Wait For Me
by Riniel o Imladris
Summary: Please...wait for me. A simple request, made by a man who loved her enough to sell his soul to darkness. And if she had heeded his plea, what then? Would their fate still be filled with sorrow, or would the light blaze a new path? Revenge of the Sith AU
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

I must be completely out of my mind.  
I told Captain Typho to belay my request to prep the skiff for takeoff and confined myself to my apartment as the Republic crumbled to dust around me. I did not have the energy to change out of the utility suit I had planned to wear during my desperate dash across space to find my Ani, and for the thousandth time I asked myself the question - the one that haunted me since he had appeared on the veranda in the dark hours before dawn.  
"_Please, wait for me."  
__Wait? What for?  
_He had scared me, with what he said, and how he acted.  
Like he was not…himself.

Then those blue eyes would change, and light up from the inside like they used to, and he began spewing those impossible promises that I find so endearing.  
"_Things will be different, I promise."  
__Everything is different.  
_I watched a man – someone who I thought was a good man – declare himself the sovereign of the democracy I had spent most of my adult life serving, and my fellow Senators had applauded.  
Applauded the birth of an Empire.  
I made me nauseous – more so than the morning sickness that had plagued me in the early months of my pregnancy. When I lived in fear that my husband was dead, somewhere in the farthest corners of the galaxy, fighting a war that was a mistake – and which now I believed to be an orchestrated event, upon hearing Obi-Wan's revelation.  
"_Palpatine is the Sith Lord we've been looking for."  
__But you had worse news for me, didn't you, Obi-Wan?_

I sit on the edge of our bed, hunched over, rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around my body as I struggled to block it out, to make some sense of it all.  
"_Padmé…Anakin has turned to the dark side."  
_I still see him – my brave, strong, handsome Jedi protector – with that strange expression in his sky-colored eyes, murmuring words of assurance before he left on his "mission".  
The mission he said would end the war.  
Wars always end in death.  
I feel my body shivering, and my teeth chatter, so I curl up on the bed, grabbing one of his old cloaks. The coarse fabric wraps me in his scent, and for a moment, I am calm.  
There is a fluttering of movement under my ribs.  
"_Anakin is the father, isn't he?"  
__But you are still looking for him. Prepared to kill him for his crimes._

If I weren't in this situation, maybe none of this would be happening. Ani would not have had that stupid dream…I don't really mean it, though.  
But even Ani doesn't know how complicated things have truly become.  
I could not bear to tell him, to fire another laser blast that would surely knock him off of his feet – and his fragile grip on sanity.  
I am carrying twins.  
Two tiny lives sheltered inside me, sharing our genes – children of a forbidden passion, but they will be loved – that is one promise I fully intend to keep. But their father…  
He is not ready.  
And I realize I don't know what to do. That's why I decided to stay here.  
He told me to wait.  
And for once, I am listening.  
What will that mean for me, for him, and the beginnings of our family in a universe turned upside down and plunged into darkness?  
I don't know.  
_I don't know._


	2. Interlude One: I Am the Darkness

**Interlude One  
**_**I Am the Darkness**_

I am not here.  
I feel the metal platform beneath the soles of my boots.  
The hot wind against my face, rippling the hood that shadows my features.  
The acrid smell of sulfur stings my nostrils, but it does not drown out the stench of death that clings to my clothes, sinking deep into my pores.  
If I am not here, then it has no power over me.  
Flames dance all around me – I am a shadow, not a living being, not a man – and grief wells up inside me, stifling all thought.  
"_What are you going to do?"  
__I'd do anything – to save you._

My angel, my bright light; she can never know what I have done to buy her life, to keep her from the danger of death. Her face, her exquisite eyes, her soft lips, and her gentle, strong warmth…  
all these things reminded me of what must be done the instant I walked into the communications bunker mere minutes ago.  
"_Wipe out Viceroy Gunray and the other Separatist leaders."  
__I would sell my soul if only I can keep her.  
_There is moisture on my cheek, cutting a path through the sweat, grime, and splatters of blood on my skin.  
I am not here because I am dead.  
I died as my blade carved through the Separatists.  
When the blue bar of light cut down the small blonde Padawan hiding with other Younglings who asked for my help.  
When Master Windu flew out of the broken window, his severed arm smoking at my feet, his body still crackling with lightning.  
I am a walking dead man.

The tears are my penance – the precious little feeling that I can spare since I chose this path – they mourn the loss of a Jedi and a good man.  
A hero of the Republic.  
Anakin Skywalker is no more to this galaxy.  
He exists only in my memory, and in the presence of his family.  
It is for their sake that I do not cast him off completely.  
She would surely know, would sense that he was gone from my eyes – and leave me to rot away to nothing, deprived of her life-giving light. And that can never happen. I would never see the tiny, perfect face of our child, or experience the wholeness of being a part of its new, wonderful life.  
And it _will_ have a wonderful life. My power will see to that.  
It is for _them_ that I do this – that I consign myself to hell and transform into a monster – to keep them safe.

I comfort the grief in my hollow chest with a reminder that it's only for a while. After the Chancellor has taught me all I need to know about the dark side, he will be…disposed of, and I will give  
this galaxy into my angel's capable hands.  
I have no care for government.  
Whatever she wishes to do will be done. And I will make sure of that.  
Convincing her that these actions must be taken will be difficult, if not impossible. But I will not use the Force to persuade her mind – as if I could.  
Strong-willed and idealistic.  
Probably why I love her so much.

The salt streaks are nearly dried, and I realize that I should contact my Master.  
My mission was a success. Then I can leave this smoldering cinder through the purgatory of hyperspace, and return to the heavenly embrace of my angel.  
The screams, the begging, the revelry of destroying a life…  
None of it will hold sway over me in her arms.  
So I march back into the bunker, refusing to look down as I step over smashed droid components and bloodied body fragments, and activate a link to Coruscant.  
I fold my arms tight across my chest as my Master's face appears as a translucent blue hologram. "The Separatists have been taken care of, my Master."  
"It is finished, then." He speaks slowly, inflecting tones of regretful relief.  
I am not fooled.  
"You have restored peace and justice to the galaxy."  
_Safe for Padmé and the baby.  
_His tone becomes more commanding. He is giving me another assignment.  
"Send a message to the ships of the Trade Federation. All droid units must shut down immediately."  
I reply with deference and respect, as one should address their Master. "Very good, my Lord." The holo fizzles out, and I punch in the appropriate codes into the panel, waiting for final confirmation that the droids are no longer a threat.

A strange tingling skitters across the back of my neck.  
My head tilts slightly as the Force whispers to me, as it always has, breathing images of the future into my skull.  
Padmé. Padmé is supposed to be here.  
I shake my head, struggling to clear it. She cannot be here, she _cannot.  
_Besides, I told her to wait for me.  
_When has she ever listened to me?  
_The feeling stays with me, and I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see her there behind me, dismay and disappointment and fear lingering in the depths of her dark eyes.  
But, of course, the only living thing in the room is me.  
I close my eyes; the surge of my newfound powers amplifying old ones as I stretch out for her across the stars.  
Her light flickers on the capital, colored with despair.  
Frantic, I cast my perception around her wildly, searching for a threat, but there is none.  
Then the nature of the emotion hits me like a stun beam.  
She is despairing for me.

I latch onto our bond; created when the universe began and enhanced by our marriage and every kiss, every caress, and I trace over her mind lightly.  
Anger sears white-hot when I see who stirred this dread in her heart.  
Obi-Wan.  
He is still alive, as I expected. Obi-Wan is much too powerful and resourceful to be killed by clones. But why would he go to her?  
_He's looking for me.  
_My metal fist slams into a control panel, sparks flying from the broken circuitry.  
Obi-Wan was searching for a means to locate me, and his feelings had naturally led him straight to her.  
Perhaps she had not come here because she feared he would follow.  
A thought wafts across her mind; she has summoned a memory, one that she seems to shrink away from in terror. I catch it, prepared to remove it from her mind to spare her, when I hear  
my old Master's voice, sad and full of pity.  
"_Anakin is the father, isn't he?"  
_  
Waves of heat and cold wash over my body. He knows about our baby.  
He could be there right now, watching her, using my angel as bait for me.  
Desperately, I call on my rage and bring an image of her into focus through the Force.  
It is dark, and she lies on our bed, curled in a ball and wrapped in my old cloak. I feel my hand reach out to touch her, to brush away the tears marring her smooth cheek,  
but the vision blurs and vanishes.  
I did not sense Obi-Wan.  
But my angel needs me.  
I fly out of the bunker and head for the landing pad. Artoo whistles at me curiously. "Begin the takeoff cycle. We're going home."  
_I'm coming home to you._


	3. Interlude Two: The Last Jedi

**Interlude Two  
**_**The Last Jedi**_

I am alone.  
I do not know what power possessed me to return here – yet here I stand.  
The bodies have been removed, but the stone walls still scream, echoing the cries of hundreds of lost Jedi.  
My kin, my family, all gone.  
Murdered by the boy I raised and trained.  
The man I call my brother.  
I watch a shaking hand that looks like mine touch a gouge in a carved pillar. The mark was made by a lightsaber. The blade swung sure, coldly calculating.  
Empty of all emotion.  
Like a machine.

The hand draws back as if scalded, and my feet carry me further into the ruins, the scent of smoke hanging heavy in the air.  
"_You owe me one. And not just for saving your skin for the tenth time."  
__You have betrayed us all, Anakin.  
_And now I think I know why.  
I see it now in his stance, his anxiousness to return to Coruscant when we finally received a reprieve from assignments.  
I saw it in her eyes, the desperate, fervent love that poured out of her.  
In the gentle curve of her swollen belly.

I cannot believe that I was so blind to it. That I _chose_ to be blind to it for his sake, for the sake of his _happiness,_ however brief. Because she could give him what the Jedi and I could not.  
"_Master, I've disappointed you."  
__I disappointed myself.  
_Qui-Gon gave him into my care. The Council trusted me to train him, to rear him up steadfast and true in our ways so that he might fulfill the prophecy.  
The Chosen One is a lie.  
Anakin never really followed the ways of the Code. He constantly contradicted them, seeking new ways to undo ancient precepts and challenge tradition.  
And he married the woman he loves.  
I knew, of course. Even I am not ignorant of emotion. But I had hoped that he would be wise, and would look to his training for guidance through a web of intense, tangled emotions whose epicenter was a girl grown into a woman that had captured his heart since their first meeting. But he perceived himself as invincible. Maybe he is.  
And my plan to find him has certainly failed.  
If Padmé does know his whereabouts, she is not seeking him out.  
I overheard her new orders for the Captain as the sun set, bringing an uneasy twilight and the haunting call of the Temple.  
For the sakes of my fallen brethren I must carry out my duty.  
For the sake of the galaxy.

"_You're going to kill him, aren't you?"  
__I must…but I will destroy myself along with him.  
_Padmé is a friend, an old, very dear friend. And the child will not be safe with him.  
He has turned into a monster.  
Even if he is convinced he could never hurt her, hurt them, the hate will become too strong for him to control. It will sever all ties to humanity and burn everything to ashes.  
I will not allow that to happen.  
Contrary to what she may think, I care about her and the child.  
She is the widow of my best friend.  
Assurance is born from that statement in my heart, filling me with purpose.  
Anakin, my Padawan, my friend, my brother…is dead.  
Darth Vader is all that remains.

He will return eventually from whatever task his Master has given him, and seek solace in the arms of Anakin's wife.  
Resentment clouds my vision, and I struggle to push it aside. I need clarity of mind if I am to succeed against a Sith.  
I could tell when I spoke to her that she clings to the hope that he is still in there somewhere. That the smallest sliver of the man she loves is buried under all of that rage and darkness and death,  
and she will find it and bring it to life.  
Perhaps she can.  
But I cannot afford to take that risk.  
I stride for the Temple doors, pulling the cowl of my hood lower over my face.  
It grieves me to use a friend in this manner, but if it will help me protect her and her baby then I am at peace. I will fulfill my sworn duty as a Jedi.  
I will defeat the Sith.  
_I will kill my best friend._


	4. If Evil Can Love, Then What Is Evil?

**Chapter One**

_**If Evil Can Love, Then What Is Evil?**_

A thick, heavy fog hovered over Coruscant, the early morning sunlight gleaming ghostly and pale, not yet strong enough to cut through the clouds.  
Padmé Amidala lay still and silent in her bedroom, the emptiness of the suite leaving her hollow inside, with a quiet so dense that it buzzed dully in her ears.  
She had dismissed her handmaidens – much to their dismay – and requested that Captain Typho keep all security personnel on the lower level.  
Her only company was her wayward emotions and her unborn children.  
The twins were her secret heartache, and her solace in this silence that pierced her heart like a blade. Under the folds of Anakin's cloak, she caressed her stomach, receiving a kick in response.  
They grew more active every day, and Padmé knew, felt it deep in her soul, that it would not be long until they staged their arrival.  
And she wondered bleakly why Ani did not sense two tiny minds nestled inside her, even when he had laid his palm, so briefly, against them.  
But Anakin did not seem to know himself right now, let alone sense anyone else.

She wanted to tell him so many times, especially after their easy, light-hearted banter over the baby's gender just the other day.  
"_He kicked me."  
_"_He? What makes you think it's a boy?"  
_"_My motherly intuition."  
_"_Whoa! With a kick that strong it's got to be a girl."  
_It had almost burst out of her right then – a joyful acclamation that they were both right. But Ani became so moody and distant, criticizing the Jedi Order,  
and then accusing her of sounding like a Separatist…  
And the nightmares that hounded his every thought, waking or asleep.  
No, the news would not be well received at all.  
So she locked it in, hiding it in the dark recesses of her mind, and devoted herself to her work in the Senate while she struggled to keep Anakin with her – with _them_,  
as he seemed to slip farther and farther away.  
"_I feel lost."  
_He looked to her as a guide, a counselor, and it both flattered and unnerved her.  
As a Jedi, their Code and the Masters on the Council should serve as his compass, but he cared nothing for anything they could say to him.  
Without her he would be lost.  
"_I can't lose you, Padmé."_

He was two people, and it amazed her daily how he managed to keep from letting one persona spill over into another. She did catch flashes of the Jedi Knight, the Chosen One,  
The Hero With No Fear. She could see it simmering in his too blue eyes, replacing the calm glass sea with tempest-tossed waves.  
And she only had to wait, to watch him with all the love she possessed for this intense young man, her fierce vine tiger, and he would subdue as if she had reprimanded him.  
The image of the warrior would fade, and all she would see was a fragile man with a boy's face, his very countenance pleading for her affection as she cradled his slowly mending heart in her hands.  
He had lost so much in his short life.  
It frightened her to think what he would become if she did die.  
He had told her once that she was his soul, and a being without a soul is…nothing.  
An empty shell.  
But Padmé did not fear his dreams as he did. She was not weak. She was a strong, healthy woman and the medical droids had assured her that the twins were in excellent condition,  
though there was a high probability that the labor would begin early.

An image jumped suddenly into her mind's eye, and she recoiled as though struck. She saw him, walking through the capital as it burned all around him.  
A black cloak billowed around him like a shadow, and he seemed…larger, somehow. His boots smoldered in the heat, and smoke curled around his limbs, but he was unphased.  
Then she saw the eyes.  
They were the same blue, the blue of the lake that surrounded the villa on Naboo, but they were empty.  
Hollow.  
As glassy-eyed and dead as a corpse.  
She squeezed her eyes shut and tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, seeping into the rough fabric of his cloak. She buried her face against the material, breathing in deeply his familiar scent,  
and her body ached for his embrace.  
She refused to believe what Obi-Wan had told her about him.  
Even if it were true.  
Anakin would never leave her.  
And she could never leave him.  
_Anakin, _her heart called into the silence, _I need you._

It was like an intangible breeze swept into the room and brushed across her, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. She felt warmth, and was flooded with his presence, as if he had entered the room. The feeling cocooned her and she heard…  
_I'm coming.  
_The words knifed through the silence as if spoken aloud, like a whisper in her ear. Padmé's wide brown eyes snapped open, and she slowly raised her head from the mattress, glancing warily about  
the darkened room. Shadows seemed to jump out at her, but she saw no one – she was alone. Yet Anakin's essence stayed with her, and she stared intently at the closed door, confident that at any second he would enter. Even the twins were oddly still, as they were whenever he was near.  
Her braid slipped over a shoulder as she continued to study the room, and though a part of her knew it was completely impossible, that she was being utterly ridiculous,  
she whispered hopefully, "Anakin?"  
The feeling intensified, and in her mind's eye she could picture his bright, lopsided grin.  
She sank back onto the bed, pillowing her head on her arm, and snuggled his cloak under her chin. Anakin had used Force sending on her before, but it had been nowhere near as strong and…  
and _assured_ as it was now.  
Fear slithered down her spine as she wondered if he knew about Obi-Wan.

At once, she could almost sense his thumb caressing her cheek, silencing her fear. He knew, but it did not matter – he was safe, and she was safe.  
Padmé closed her eyes and wished fervently that he were here, that they didn't have to rely on Force powers to convey their emotions. So that she could touch him, feel him beside her.  
She thought she could hear his soft laughter, and her memory raced backward to the last time they had been together before their five-month separation. He had to leave for a debriefing very early  
in the morning, and he had promised to return as soon as it was over.  
"_I don't want you to go," she had begged softly, pulling him back to her on the bed.  
__He sighed and buried his face in her neck, murmuring, "I don't want to, either, but it's something I have to do."  
__They shared a deep kiss, and he traced his lips over her face and neck before reluctantly coming to his feet. "I'll be back before you know it."  
__She smoothed her tangled curls as she said, "Promise?"  
__He chuckled, a warm, pleasant sound that lit her up inside. "Go to sleep, my love. And when you wake up I'll be there, right beside you. I promise."  
_And he had been there when she woke up later that morning. She could not remember if he had even left – they were so comfortable and content in that moment. Padmé's exhaustion crept upon her, and she coiled her free arm around her belly as his presence slowly receded from her awareness.  
But she was not afraid.  
He would be with her when she woke up.

* * *

Artoo was screeching something about uncharted hyperspace routes as Anakin punched in coordinates, but he ignored the little astromech droid. The numbers felt right as he entered them,  
and in no time at all his sleek star fighter was rocketing toward home. He exhaled heavily and sat back in his seat, idly watching the stars blur outside the canopy viewport.  
He knew that his Master had not called him back to Coruscant, but he did not care.  
He had done as Sidious had asked.  
Now it was _his_ time.  
It was not an overly long jump, but Anakin fairly trembled with exhaustion and a myriad of emotions he could not bear to identify. All that mattered was Padmé.  
She was all that mattered to him.  
Although he could not deny that he still felt an undercurrent of secrecy in her, and even the Chancellor had intimated that she was hiding something. If she was, it would not stay hidden for long.  
She had nothing to fear from the New Order, the Chancellor, or anything in the galaxy.  
Because she had _him_.  
He was confident that whatever she was hiding, she would tell him eventually. He was her husband – he loved her, and she trusted him. That was how it was supposed to be.  
He could never forget the last secret she had shared.  
"_Ani…I'm pregnant."_

Stars had exploded in his brain, and everything became unnaturally bright. Her eyes were shining with joy, yet she yearned for his approval. And he _was _happy – if their lives had been different  
he would have let out an ear-splitting whoop and whirled her around the room. But deception and fear dogged their footsteps.  
A child could not remain hidden – _should_ not be hidden – and that meant that everything would change, and not necessarily for the better.  
But now…now _everything_ was better.  
The Jedi Order was extinct, and with it all those pre-conceived notions of attachment and passion, and he was free. _They_ were free to live, as they ought – as a man and a woman in love,  
as a married couple, as a _family_.  
And that gave him joy.  
For a moment his heart lifted, and the darkness leeching into his soul thinned as his imagination chased after the daydream of their family living on Naboo, in the villa by the lake. Padmé had confessed her desire to have the baby there, and he was determined to grant her every wish. He saw her greeting him, a soft breeze tossing her glossy curls, the golden sunlight illuminating her creamy skin as she smiled, cradling two tiny bundles of white in her arms…  
_Two…?_

Suddenly the vision was plunged into darkness, and flames sprang up all around him. He cried out, and the heat pressed him from all sides. He heard her screaming in the distance.  
She was calling out to him…she wanted him to…  
The inferno surrounded him, and he was walking through the ruins of a great city. The smoke and fire cleared a path for him, bowing in reverence to his power. He looked skyward, and instantly  
clouds thickened, summoning cold drops of rain.  
Then he saw her, hair and dress streaming around her like water.  
She was staring at him with an expression that made him shiver.  
Silent tears spilled down her pale cheeks, and she leaked sorrow into the Force.  
And her dark velvet eyes mourned him, and filled with terror as he approached.  
She began backing away.  
From him.  
Her rejection slit into his chest like a double-edged blade. The darkness swirled around him, blocking his view of her as he screamed for her to stay…  
"_Anakin…I need you."_

The call released him from the nightmarish vision, and he gasped sharply, sweat poring from his temples, his thick curls clinging to his forehead. Anakin's mind returned to the present moment, the echo of Padmé's plea ringing in his heart. He forced himself to relax, settling into his seat as he focused on her. He broadcast his love and devotion to her, pouring his essence into the Force with all the power he could muster. He could see their bedroom, see her small form on the bed, and felt her soothing presence, like the cool waterfalls of Naboo.  
Their shared feelings filled him up, banishing the vision from him, and he whispered into her mind, _I'm coming._

He sensed her wariness and disbelief, and he could almost see her glancing about the room for him. Her thoughts warred between rationalization and wild hope, and the hope won out  
when she whispered, _"Anakin?"  
_Pleasure welled inside him, and he shared it with her, letting it warm them. Their bond was growing stronger, intensified by his new powers. He had tried Force sending with her many times,  
but it had never been this certain.  
Perhaps their baby's untapped Force potential added strength as well.  
As if she had read his thoughts, Padmé's essence quivered with fright.  
Obi-Wan, again.  
He flooded her raw nerves with calm, comforting her trepidation. Obi-Wan would not harm them – not now, not ever. Anakin was safe, and he would ensure that Padmé and their baby stayed safe.  
He felt her desire to touch him, to hold him close, and he laughed. He wanted to be with her, too – but he loved her impatience. He called up a memory – one of his favorites – and pushed it toward her. All anxiousness faded from her mind, and the blankness he sensed was a sign that she had fallen asleep.  
He started tinkering with the navicomputer, much to Artoo's alarm, but he brushed aside the droid's warnings.  
He had a promise to keep.

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, General of the Clone Wars, the Negotiator…and now a wanted fugitive, slowly exited the ruins of the Jedi Temple, now a tomb of dead dreams and fractured ideals, and wandered through the shadows of early dawn.  
He had to find a way to fulfill his mission – appointed to him by Yoda himself.  
Obi-Wan wondered despondently if Yoda had been successful.  
He supposed that he would have felt the Jedi Master's death, or at least the lifting of the veil of darkness at the Sith Lord's demise…but everything remained unnaturally chilled,  
and his perception of the Force stayed shrouded in shadows.  
Memories of Anakin haunted his every footstep, and the heavy weight of failure hunched his shoulders as he slowly made his way through the city. Where had he gone wrong?  
Where had he failed in the boy's training? Perhaps the Council had been right all along. Anakin should never have been trained.  
"_The boy is dangerous. They all sense it, why can't you?"  
_Obi-Wan had stated that very forcefully to his own Master years ago, when Qui-Gon had found the boy on Tatooine and claimed him to be the child of the prophecy.  
If Qui-Gon had been Anakin's Master, maybe the galaxy would not be drowning in this darkness and pain, and the Jedi would still have their place in the Republic.  
Or would Qui-Gon be standing here, where he was now?  
The line between destiny and choice was very faint, indeed.

Lost in his tormented ruminations, Obi-Wan started to round a corner to a public transport station when a glimmer of white caught his eye. He glanced up – and pressed himself against the wall  
as a small troop of clones guarded the entrance.  
He heard one of the troopers check in with a commander over his comm.  
"Reporting from Transport Bay 0078. Situation normal, Commander, everything looks clear."  
"Stay on alert, Lieutenant, Jedi can be tricky." Obi-Wan's stomach dropped. Apparently it was time he got out of Coruscant. "The Chancellor would prefer him to be captured alive,  
but if force is necessary, do not hesitate."  
"Yes, sir." The lieutenant signed off, and turned to the group. "Fan out around the Bay and keep your eyes open for any anomalies. The Jedi cannot be permitted to enter any transport."  
Obi-Wan's storm gray eyes tracked the movements of the clones, and then leaned against the wall, mind racing wildly. If there were clones stationed at every Transport Bay then he was in deep trouble. But it seemed odd to him that any troops would be placed at this particular Bay. It made no stops at any off-world hangers or major government sites – in fact, the only minor relevant stop was at Five Hundred Republica…

It hit him like a star cruiser plummeting from orbit.  
The clones were stationed here to keep him from Padmé.  
He suspected the Chancellor wanted to keep Anakin under control, and that meant offering the semblance of protection to his wife.  
And in so doing, maintaining custody of a potentially Force Sensitive child.  
Obi-Wan could not let anything happen to that child; he or she could be the last hope for the galaxy, and he would not let their education of the Force begin with the poison of the dark side.  
He had failed Anakin – he was not about to fail the next generation of Skywalkers.  
Suddenly an immensely powerful Force signature drifted across his vision, and his breathing was stagnant as blood pounded in his ears.  
It was Anakin. Or whatever had become of Anakin.

The presence felt familiar; still flavored with that earnestness and confidence that Anakin fairly exuded whenever he entered a room, but Obi-Wan could not deny the tang of darkness in his essence.  
It left a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth like blood.  
But the signature was faint, so that must mean Anakin was not on Coruscant.  
_Then why…?  
_Amazed, Obi-Wan felt his old Padawan's perception pass over him and focus on another. The concentration of power astounded the Jedi Master.  
It was as if Anakin's abilities had tripled overnight, but Obi-Wan did not sense a black void from him.  
He was not sure _what_ he had felt.  
But there was only one person on Coruscant that Anakin would contact in this manner.  
Obi-Wan abruptly spun on heel and headed into the lower districts of the city. Public transports were out of the question, but there was more than one way to pull the ears off a gundark.  
He would make his way to Senator Amidala.  
And figure out a way to hide her and the child from Anakin.  
Failure was not an option.

* * *

It was so rewarding to see events unfold exactly as foreseen.  
He had plucked the Chosen One from the feeble grasp of the Jedi, and by adding the boy's fury and power to his own, the Order was all but extinct – save but a few.  
Sidious refused to ponder any longer the fate of Master Yoda. The ancient Jedi had no doubt fled to the far reaches of known space, and would trouble him no more.  
But Obi-Wan Kenobi was another matter.  
That Jedi was notoriously difficult to kill, and his influence still held sway over Sidious' precarious relationship with his new apprentice.  
As did the unmanageable Senator Amidala.  
But he dare not move directly against her; Vader would surely snap his leash and destroy all of Sidious' well-laid plans with a maelstrom of grief and rage.  
No, he would have to tread _very_ carefully through the territory of attachment.  
The Sith understood passion, but love was a venom to the constructive use of passion.  
Sidious would eventually convince Vader of the logic of this, and Padmé's effect over his more…_human_ emotions would dwindle.  
And the child would be his to train without question.  
Satisfaction swelled in his chest as he turned to watch the sunlight struggle to pierce the dense fog concealing the city. The Chosen One and his offspring – a family of exceptionally powerful  
Force wielders under his command.  
It was truly something to look forward to.

* * *

The triangular star fighter cut through the fog like an arrowhead as it sailed toward Five Hundred Republica. Anakin felt unusually apprehensive, which annoyed him.  
He had nothing to fear, nothing to be ashamed of. Sidious could rebuke him until blue in the face and it didn't matter to the young man. His mission was finished, and he wanted to see his wife.  
Obligations and responsibilities be damned.  
It had never stopped him before.  
But a small part of him worried what the Sith Lord would do in retribution, especially now that he knew Anakin's weakness. The one thing he could not live without.  
_If he lays a finger on her I'll cut him in half, _Anakin silently vowed.  
Sidious was not that stupid anyway. He needed Anakin's power, or he would not have gone to such efforts to turn him to the dark side. The tale he had spun of Darth Plagueis at the ballet,  
and his promises of granting Anakin the power he needed to save her from his nightmares were all elaborate snares.  
But none of that was important to him now.  
Padmé would not die in childbirth.  
Anakin would never allow it to happen – he didn't need the Chancellor's help.  
He had all the power.

Something whispered in the back of his skull that he was being arrogant…but he quickly crushed that thought. He was merely stating a fact.  
The star fighter landed smoothly on Padmé's veranda and Anakin slipped out of the cockpit, looking around in mild surprise. No guards, no handmaidens – not a soul in sight.  
She must have sent them all away. Smiling to himself, he strode in as quietly as a shadow, moving down the hall to their bedroom.  
He gestured, and the Force pushed open the door as silently as a breeze. The blinds were closed, leaving the room in semidarkness, and her scent filled his nostrils as her presence filled his heart.  
He inhaled deeply, all tension fleeing his tall frame, and he was irresistibly drawn to the small figure on the bed.  
She was slumbering peacefully, that little sleep smile curving her lips, and her face pressed against the folds of his old cloak.  
He couldn't help the grin that nearly split his face.  
He was home – _his_ home, with _his_ wife and _his_ child.  
Anakin leaned down to kiss her enticing lips when the smell of sulfur sent him wheeling backward in horror. He swept into the bathroom and gazed into the mirror.

What he saw froze the blood in his veins.  
He saw a soot-streaked face flecked with multicolored blood, and eyes burning red and yellow as the lava streams of Mustafar.  
Anakin stepped away in shock, and looked down at his palms – one flesh, one encased in a black glove, reeling.  
_Who am I? _What_ am I?  
_He struggled to catch his breath as he paced the room, the need to throw something or smash the mirror into shards nearly overtaking him.  
Padmé moaned softly in her sleep and he halted, breathing deeply.  
He just needed to calm down. She could not see him like this.  
Anakin slowly closed the bathroom door and stripped down to his pants. He vigorously splashed water over his face, hair, and upper body and scrubbed off the dried blood and volcanic ash  
caked onto his skin. Then he sat cross-legged on the floor and closed his eyes, sinking into a meditation trance.  
It only lasted a few minutes, but when he looked back into the mirror, his clear blue eyes stared back at him from shadowed hollows in his face. Fatigue was beginning to overwhelm him;  
he had to rest and collect his strength.  
He grabbed his soiled clothing and tossed it into the recycler, and slipped back into the bedroom. Tucking his boots, belt and lightsaber under the bed, he gingerly lifted the covers  
and climbed in beside her.

She did not stir, so Anakin slipped closer and slowly put his arm around her, gently pulling her toward him. Padmé's smile widened just a little, and she snuggled into his chest, laying her soft cheek on his chest as her hand found the warm skin over his heart. Contentment stole over him as he tucked her body into his – her head under his chin as his arms encircled her delicate shoulders.  
She crooked her leg around his, instinctively pulling closer, and the bulge of their child pressed into his ribs.  
He felt each movement, and marveled inwardly how she managed to sleep at all.  
Everything else in the universe faded away in a blissful haze, and as Anakin drifted off to sleep, he listened to her every heartbeat, each sweet breath.  
He had kept this promise, and he had many more to fulfill.  
And the stinging memory of those burning flames in his eyes receded in the warmth of Padmé's embrace. Her strong, faithful love chased away the apparition of Vader and called Anakin Skywalker  
to the surface. Whether he was weak or not, she loved him.  
His entire existence revolved around the angel resting beside him.  
Nothing else lived outside that door for him – not now.  
Padmé sighed into his neck and the baby shifted inside her as Anakin succumbed to sleep. But his Force sense remained focused on her as his unconscious mind tried to cleanse itself  
in the balm of her presence.  
So he remained unaware when Obi-Wan entered the apartment.

* * *

Gaining access to Senator Amidala's apartment was trickier than sneaking into a Hutt's vault. Obi-Wan had threaded his way through the lower districts of Coruscant to emerge a few kilometers  
from the Senatorial apartments – only to be met with yet another contingent of clone troopers.  
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation, Obi-Wan called upon the Force and a group of them headed toward a far alley to investigate a mysterious noise.  
Leaving one lone guard at the entrance.  
Influencing the clone's mind was relatively easy, and the Jedi Master boarded the nearest turbolift. Arriving at the door to Padmé's suite he paused, and tentatively stretched out with the Force.  
He felt her latent mind, comfortably drifting in sleep. He also felt a peculiar echo from her, which he suspected was a sign of the unborn child's undeveloped abilities. Obi-Wan debated whether  
to simply stand alert outside the apartment instead of disturbing Padmé, when his perception jittered a warning, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.  
Thrusting hesitation aside, Obi-Wan manipulated the lock on the door and slipped inside the suite. The warning grew more pronounced, tensing his thoughts and his muscles as he scanned  
the spacious columned room.  
And he saw the green triangular star fighter docked on the veranda.  
Anakin was here.

He reached inside the folds of his cloak and grasped the hilt of his lightsaber. Keeping the inactive weapon in hand he approached the ship cautiously. Artoo was not in the droid socket, and Obi-Wan placed his open palm against the nose of the fighter. _Still warm, _he thought to himself. _He hasn't been here long.  
_A chill breeze tousled Obi-Wan's sand-colored hair as he backed away from the fighter and into the apartment, his blue-grey eyes restlessly sweeping the room.  
Subtlety was not Anakin's strong point; if he had sensed Obi-Wan's arrival he would meet him head-on, lightsaber blazing.  
Obi-Wan could only conclude that, remarkably, Anakin did not know he was here.  
Which may work in his favor.  
Obi-Wan's stomach turned at the possibility of slaying him in front of Padmé, but her welfare and that of the child forestalled all feelings of disgust.  
Some things had to be done.

He crept down the hall to the bedroom. The door was cracked slightly, and Obi-Wan heard soft, rhythmic breathing from within. He moved closer and peered into the darkened chamber.  
Two figures slept on the bed, so close together that they could have been one entity, both physically and in the Force.  
Deeply confused, Obi-Wan pushed the door open a little further and slipped inside.  
The young couple was entwined in each other's arms, enveloped in contentment, and the impression Obi-Wan received from Anakin's awareness caused him to stare in astonishment.  
After all the death and destruction, the betrayal and the pain, and the stain of darkness on his soul…he seemed unchanged. He felt the same as he had the last time Obi-Wan had seen him,  
before the long night.  
Like Anakin had returned from the dead.

And the reason Anakin's exceptional powers did not sense Obi-Wan's intrusion was because every fiber of the young man's being was centered wholly on the small woman cradled against his chest. His essence was permeated with fiercely protective love for his wife, and a bubble of Force energy surrounded them in a cocoon of static, warding off the rest of the galaxy.  
The Jedi Master's bewildered gaze shifted to Padmé's dark head, and he realized that perhaps the child was _not_ the last hope for the galaxy.  
Padmé held more control over Anakin and the fate of the Republic than anyone could have predicted.  
And Sidious would surely know.  
Obi-Wan's knuckles whitened around the metallic cylinder of his lightsaber. Yes, the Sith Lord's eventual plan would include poisoning her connection to his apprentice so the only counsel Anakin listened to would be his own. But as he watched them sleep, Obi-Wan could not help but wonder if their connection was the key to redeeming his best friend from the pull of the dark side.

If he only knew what had caused him to fall in the first place.  
He suspected that it had something to do with Padmé, but what?  
Questions whirled inside his brain, and all thought of attack vanished. He would stay here and wait for Anakin to awaken. Undoubtedly, there would be a battle – then again, Anakin may not want  
to fight in Padmé's midst. If Obi-Wan and Padmé worked together to convince Anakin of his error, maybe they could save him.  
It was a grave risk, considering the fragile life harboring inside Padmé, but he had to try. He missed his friend.  
He had lost too many friends already.  
Obi-Wan exited the room and closed the door softly, emotions and thoughts whirling around him as he strode into the small parlor on the far side of the suite. He would be patient and wait.  
The threat of meeting Vader instead of Anakin weighed heavily on his conscience, and he could not bear to leave a vulnerable Padmé alone with that creature.  
No, if Vader came out of that room, Obi-Wan would not falter.  
He could not afford to – there was too much at stake.  
He wrapped his cloak about him and sat on the divan, watching the sunlight strive to pierce the fog swathing the planet poised on the brink of an abyss.


	5. Illusions and Shadows

**Chapter Two**

_**Illusions and Shadows**_

She was warm – so very warm, and safe, and loved.  
She didn't want to open her eyes for fear that it was only a dream.  
But she felt the taunt muscles under her palm, and heard the low, steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear, and her eyelids slowly lifted.  
The room was bathed in hazy light, a pale ivory compared to the golden beams that often accompanied the sunrise. She watched her hand slowly rise and fall with his every breath, and was comforted by the weight of his head resting atop hers.  
The desire to fall back asleep was strong, but Padmé wanted to stay awake and savor his presence. His sure, solid strength filled her with peace – an emotion that had fled since the incident at  
the Jedi Temple.  
She quickly banished the memory from her thoughts, and resolutely laid her cheek on his bare chest. Anakin was here, now, with her – and that was enough.  
His breathing changed subtly; anyone else would not have noticed, but after sharing a bed for four years, Padmé was as in tune to his physical nuances as she was to her own body.  
She snuggled against him as Anakin traced his callused fingers along her arms and back.

"Good morning," he murmured into her hair, his voice a little hoarse from sleep.  
The recollection of that strange man who had bid her farewell evaporated, and Padmé felt deep within her soul that her Ani had come back to her. The overwhelming relief rising inside consumed all other feelings, and a trickle of moisture leaked out of the corner of her eye to puddle on his skin.  
"Padmé?"  
She sniffled quietly, but it was too late to hide her tears – Anakin surely sensed her unruly emotions. "Hey…" Anakin pushed himself upright, keeping Padmé locked in his arms as she wiped hurriedly at her eyes. "What is it?" he asked gently.  
She shook her head incessantly, averting her gaze as her shoulders shook slightly with suppressed feelings. Anakin tenderly cupped her cheek and turned her face toward his, the tracks of tears glistening on her cheeks. But the smile she gave him was positively radiant. "What is it?" he asked again.

She answered in the barest whisper, "I love you so much."  
He crushed her in his embrace, yet still mindful of her swollen belly as he held her close. Padmé wrapped her arms tight around his neck, like she never wanted to let go again. Anakin felt a brief flicker of amusement. Had she been worried that he wouldn't come back? He had promised, after all.  
And he would be forever grateful for whatever reason had stopped her from searching him out on Mustafar.  
She could _never_ see that part of him. _Ever.  
_He dropped a kiss on her forehead, and his attention was immediately drawn to the shifting movements inside her belly. "Good morning to you, too," he said cheerily, and leaned down to kiss the fabric over her abdomen. Padmé smoothed his hair, and his senses suddenly tingled – like something dangerous was lurking just out of sight. But her cool fingers framed his face and guided him to her lips, and all other thought faded away.  
As they kissed, Anakin grasped Padmé's braid and pulled off the tie. With deft and skilled fingers he loosened her hair and it cascaded in thick ringlets all around her shoulders and down her back.  
She pulled back slightly with a grin. "You never could leave my hair alone."  
He smirked broadly, threading his long fingers through the curls. "I like it too much." As if he needed to prove the truth of that remark, he buried his face into her neck, inhaling the familiar fragrance. Padmé chuckled low in her throat, and he pressed his lips on her pulse point, smiling with satisfaction when she shivered in delight. He straightened, and drew her up until they were sitting across from each other on the bed. "Now," he began in a brusque, authoritative tone, yet his eyes twinkled mischievously, "how are you feeling?"

She stared at him for a moment, puzzled by the question. Anakin purposefully let his gaze drift down to her belly, and her entire countenance lit up, sending ripples of pleased surprise into the Force, which he understood.  
Since his nightmares, he had not been particularly enthusiastic about the baby.  
Things were different now.  
"Well," Padmé said thoughtfully, "I've been a little more tired, but the med droids assure me that it's normal at this stage in the pregnancy."  
He nodded encouragingly, smoothing his thumbs over her knuckles. "Anything else? Aches, pains, weird food cravings?"  
She laughed. "This is the strangest conversation I have ever had with you." But he felt her contentment, at the normalcy of a mother-to-be talking to her husband about all the nuances of carrying a baby. "The smell of hoi broth makes me nauseous," she volunteered, wrinkling her adorable nose.  
Anakin snorted in amusement, "Hoi broth makes everyone nauseous."  
Padmé took his hands and pressed them against the bulge, blinking her dark eyes seriously. "Ani…there's something that I need to tell you."

His brows rose expectantly, appearing only mildly interested, but his heart clenched with tension. Little whispers of fear flitted around his mind, conjuring all kinds of horrible images of his beloved wife plotting with Sidious' "troublemakers" in the Senate, and that perhaps there had been something more in her conversation with Obi-Wan…  
_No, _he thought firmly, _I was inside her mind. I would have felt it.  
_Anakin withdrew from his dark speculations as Padmé's heightened emotions sent unpleasant nettles of anxiety into the Force. He flashed her a gentle smile, tenderly rubbing his palms over her stomach. "Tell me," he murmured.  
"It's about the baby," Padmé said quietly, her hands twisting together nervously, and she looked away almost fearfully.  
She was _definitely_ not helping his nerves.  
"The baby? Why? Is something wrong with her?" Anakin asked worriedly, his tone increasing in volume as he stared down at her belly with concern.  
"No, Ani! No, everything's fine, it's just that…" she trailed off, her lips thinning to a straight line, deep in thought. Then she sighed in defeat and looked up at his anxious expression sadly. "I don't know how to tell you. I'm afraid –"  
Afraid? That would not do at all.  
Anakin reached up and framed her face between his hands, gazing deep into her eyes intently. "You don't have to be afraid of _anything_, Padmé, do you understand? Nothing bad is going to happen  
to us. I promise."  
She smiled at him weakly. "Do you still think I'm going to die?"

An icy spike of dread lodged in his chest, and for one heart-stopping second he thought she was about to tell him that something was wrong with her…then he caught her meaning. His hands slowly fell, and he watched her with uncertain blue eyes.  
"You're afraid of what I'll think."  
Padmé nodded morosely.  
Did she think he was a coward?  
A surge of anger burned in his veins, and his brow lowered.  
But he felt a flicker of anticipation from his wife, the briefest sense of expectancy that instantly cooled the onslaught of his temper. Whatever it was that she was concealing…she _wanted_ to tell him.  
Anakin felt Padmé's inquiring gaze, and shame flooded him as he thought how he had come so close to accusing her of thinking him weak. He looked over at her with a lost little boy's expression, and she brushed his hair from his forehead.  
_I don't deserve you, _he lamented silently. He said, "Tell me, please. Don't be afraid."  
She grasped his flesh hand in hers and placed it on her stomach, asking softly, "Do you remember when we talked about the baby being a boy or a girl?"  
He cocked an eyebrow teasingly, trying to lighten the mood. "Did you go and ruin the surprise?"  
"Well…yes, and no."  
Padmé's eyes shone, and she sparkled in the Force as she leaned close and whispered excitedly, "We're having one of each."

Anakin consciously reminded himself to breathe.  
"What?" he choked out.  
She touched his cheek, grinning brightly. "Twins, Ani. We're having twins."  
Anakin stared unseeingly over his wife's shoulder, lost in a myriad of contradicting emotions - joy, shock, amazement, and profound feeling of inferiority.  
He was not ready to be a father, and now there were _two_?  
_Why didn't I know?  
_Then he remembered his nightmarish vision in hyperspace, and the image of Padmé on Naboo, cradling two small bundles of white. He felt Padmé's fingertips caress his cheek, and his blue eyes swung slowly to her face. She was watching him with the same timidly expectant expression she had worn after she had told him that she was pregnant, and he knew that he had gotten his wish.  
He could finally show her how happy he was for them.  
An incandescent grin beamed from Anakin's lips, and he let out a series of joyous shouts that surely woke up the entire complex as he bounced on the bed with each whoop.  
Padmé shrieked in surprise when he scooped her into his arms like a child and spun around, holding her securely against his chest while he laughed gleefully. She threw her arms around his neck, feeling her own happiness bubble up in giggles, and her head fell back in carefree abandon as the room around them became a hazy blur.

Anakin finally set her down carefully on the edge of the bed and fell to his knees before her, taking her hands in his. He was still grinning like a giddy little boy as he said, "Wow."  
He looked like he wanted to say more, but the words wouldn't come.  
He could only stare at his beautiful angel, the mother of his children with unabashed adoration. And only one phrase came to mind to could possibly hope to express all that he felt. "I love you."  
Then he felt that odd tingle again, sending a shiver of urgency down his spine.  
Irritated, he thrust the feeling aside while Padmé leaned close and laid a soft kiss on the bridge of his nose. "I love you, too, Ani."  
Her gentle sweetness washed away the last vestiges of his grisly memories of Mustafar, and he clambered to his feet, softly tugging on her hands so she followed. Enfolding her in his arms, he gazed deeply into her dark eyes and murmured, "How would you like to go to Naboo?"  
She blinked in surprise, and little glimmers of joy glittered in her essence in the Force.  
But then her face fell, and she pursed her lips, a clear sign that she was seriously considering an issue, turning it over in her mind.  
A flicker of dread cast a dark shadow over Anakin's carefree attitude.  
He knew what she was going to ask – and he feared how he would respond.

Padmé stared unseeingly at her stomach, debating her next move.  
This morning's events had been absolutely wonderful, but the weight of the galaxy was pressing in on them once more. She had smelled faint traces of smoke and sulfur in her husband's  
dark blonde hair.  
And there was a strange look in his eyes…almost like a shadow.  
Like there was another person living inside those blue orbs, but she only glimpsed it for a second, and then it would vanish.  
She recalled the last time he had spoken to her in anger, and she barely suppressed a shiver when the _otherness_ in his voice had caught her off-guard.  
"_I don't believe that. And you're sounding like a Separatist."  
_"_Don't ask me to do that! Make a motion in the Senate, where that sort of a request belongs."  
_Her chin firmed as she mentally reminded herself that she had challenged him by asking what was wrong, and he had replied with the standard, "nothing".  
Padmé Amidala did not fear a temperamental Jedi Knight, much less her husband.  
She feared the unknown.  
Anakin was hiding things from her – things about himself – and she could no longer afford to play ignorant. She had questions, and she expected answers.  
For the twins' sake.  
Anakin's body shifted, and she glanced up. His face was halfway turned toward the door, his profile etched with suspicion. She felt his arms tighten around her.  
"Ani, what is it?" she murmured.  
He scarcely heard her.

Blood was thundering in his ears, and the edges of his vision were tinged crimson with rage. While Padmé had been lost in her musings, that flicker of urgency had suddenly screamed across Anakin's nerves like acid. He had cast his perception about the apartment, searching for the cause of the danger…and it wailed inside his skull like a warning klaxon.  
Obi-Wan.  
His arms tightened instinctively around his wife. Obi-Wan would not take her – take _them_ – from him.  
He would die first.  
His jaw bunched as he struggled to rein in his anger as Padmé's soft voice pulled at his attention. He looked down at her, and her round face was full of worry.  
Anakin smiled slightly and said, "Why don't I go get us some breakfast, and then we can talk about planning a trip to Naboo."  
She studied him a moment with a scrutiny that almost made him uncomfortable.  
Like she was trying to see beyond his skin, beyond his soul, to his very core.  
But she returned his grin and replied lightly, "There's a bowl of fruit in the kitchen."  
Anakin nearly sighed in relief. "Fruit it is." He then realized that his lightsaber was stowed under the bed, and Padmé would surely ask why he needed to be armed to make a trip to the kitchen.  
"I think I'll change into something more comfortable," she tossed over her shoulder as she floated out of his arms and disappeared into her wardrobe.  
Anakin stood there a moment in bewilderment, staring after her.  
He crept to the bed and palmed his lightsaber, threw on a light robe, and started for the door. He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and called, "I'll be back."  
Padmé replied teasingly, "Hurry up, we're hungry," and then the room echoed pleasantly as she began to hum a childhood tune from Naboo.  
The simple melody soothed his spirit, but Obi-Wan's intrusion jabbed into his solace like a stun prod and he reminded himself that he did all this for them.  
So that they all could experience these simple, beautiful moments.

Anakin padded silently out of the room and pulled the door closed.  
He looked at the handle and drew his lower lip between his teeth.  
If there was a fight, he couldn't risk his Padmé becoming involved.  
But she would be so furious…  
_Their safety is more important_, Anakin thought firmly, and with a self-conscious nod, he reached out with the Force and bent the spring in the antique lock. It could not be opened unless the door was physically removed from its hinges.  
Not that it mattered.  
Obi-Wan would never make it to the hallway.  
Anakin knotted the loose robe tightly around his waist, and recovered his boots and gauntlet from the bathroom. The worn brown leather was caked with splotches of gray dust – a souvenir  
from Mustafar.  
He hesitated, eyeing the garments warily, experiencing a turmoil that confused him.  
They were tools, nothing more. He had not felt this way about his lightsaber, and that object had caused far more damage in his hands than he cared to remember. He stepped into the boots without another thought, but the gauntlet lay in the palm of his hand, and he had the wild urge to throw it off of the balcony and into the depths of Coruscant.  
In his mind, it had become a symbol; a piece of who and what he had turned into amid the smoke and flames – a creature that dwells in darkness.  
A demon in every sense of the word.  
A demon that had no right to exist in an angel's presence.  
_Padmé… _

Pinpricks of light, like stars amongst the blackness of deep space, flared in the roiling shadows in his heart.  
And his children – little sparks of innocence as rare as Krayt dragon pearls.  
He wanted to give them the universe…but what kind of universe would they be coming into if he continued to bathe his soul in blood?  
Revulsion churned his stomach, and he glanced up into the mirror, afraid that those hate-filled yellow eyes would stare back at him. But he gazed into familiar azure orbs and, gripping the edges of the sink, Anakin bowed his head in overwhelming relief.  
From behind the darkness of his eyelids, he rationalized that the dark side had not truly changed him in the way that he feared. He was still Anakin Skywalker, Padmé still loved him, and he was still going to be a father.  
Yesterday had been a fluke.  
Sidious had told him that he needed to carry out those deeds – the Temple and the Separatists – so that he would be strong enough with the dark side to save Padmé.  
Obviously he was now.  
Anakin raised his head slowly, and stared coolly at his reflection. The confident young man in the glass seemed to murmur, _that's right. You are strong enough to keep them safe. You are strong enough now to defeat Obi-Wan and remove this last threat to your family's happiness.  
_His chest swelled, and he set his broad shoulders as he deftly pulled the glove over his metallic arm. He could still make out strains of Padmé's soft humming, and it empowered him,  
strengthening his resolve.  
Anakin strode down the hall and into the vast sitting room. The air was chilly; the gauze curtains rustled slightly in the breeze and a hazy light illuminated the apartment.  
Obi-Wan was close. His presence was muted, but the entire room echoed the Jedi Master within the Force. Anakin gripped his lightsaber in a vise grip. He stood at a loose parade rest and clasped his hands behind his back, raising an eyebrow expectantly as a cloaked figure emerged from a smaller room on the far right.  
"Awake at last, I see," Obi-Wan Kenobi remarked casually.

* * *

Padmé could not seem to pin down the reason that she felt so light-hearted.  
Yet she continued to hum an old Nubian lullaby as Ani went off to get some breakfast and she bustled around the wardrobe searching for something to wear.  
She had been ready to drill Anakin about what was going on and what was going to happen to them…but something made her stop.  
Those incredibly blue eyes had flashed with a deep vulnerability, and she had been reminded of a school trip she had taken up into the mountains on Naboo. She and a few friends had found a small, silver-furred lepri caught in a snare. Its small black eyes wide in terror, the poor little thing trembled as Padmé had knelt beside it and started cutting the rope around its leg. That tiny lepri had stared at her in fear, but she had seen a desperate hope in its eyes – as if it knew that she could save it from death.  
She had seen that same desolation in Anakin's gaze.

Padmé shivered, absentmindedly rubbing her stomach as she sifted through racks of embroidered and decorative gowns for a simpler garment.  
With their father's absence, and perhaps sensing their mother's melancholy mood, the twins seemed to take it upon themselves to keep her from boredom. A host of kicks resounded all around their shrinking domain, and with a gasp, Padmé bent forward and froze as they seemed to switch places inside her.  
"Settle down, you two," she murmured gently, straightening. She rubbed her belly soothingly, and the twins gradually settled. "Daddy will be back soon."  
She finally chose a long-sleeved dress with a high waist that suited her expanding shape.  
The fitted sleeves covered her hands nearly to the knuckles, and the high neckline and soft smoky blue material would keep away the chilly fog lingering in the morning air.  
Padmé struggled briefly to clasp the dress, but she was not about to let an article of clothing defeat her.  
Fully clothed, she slipped on a pair of brown house shoes and studied her reflection in a large, full-length mirror. Her belly protruded just slightly – enough to be noticed – and Padmé stared in amazement at the curve. She had spent months concealing such a major part of her life; she had not noticed how…_large_ she had become - and she still had seven weeks to go.  
_I look like a shaak._

A snort of laughter followed that musing, and she turned her attention to her unruly curls. Locating a sculpted silver clip from her vanity, she pulled the dark brown locks away from her face and secured them at the crown of her head. Smiling brightly, Padmé posed before the mirror and addressed her belly. "Well, how do I look?" One of the twins kicked in reply, and Padmé imagined that it was her son. "Thank you," she said quietly, patting her tummy.  
There was a small noise outside, a barely audible click. "Ani?" she called eagerly.  
But there was only silence. Peering around the corner playfully, Padmé was confronted with an empty room. Shrugging, she finished folding her rumpled outfit and replacing it in a drawer, and then set about making the bed.  
She found Anakin's utility belt stashed under the bed, so she set it in its customary spot on the small table nearby.  
Then she noticed that his lightsaber was missing.

She checked under the bed again, and the table, thinking that perhaps she had moved it without noticing – but the silver cylinder was nowhere to be found. She braced a palm on the small of her back as she stood, her mind racing frantically as she fought to remain calm.  
Any stress could send her into premature labor.  
_Calm down and think, Padmé, _she ordered herself, and made her way to the window.  
The shades rose as she neared, and Padmé gazed out at the shimmering structures slowly emerging from the fog.  
There had been a moment earlier; a handful of seconds, when Anakin had stiffened with tension and held her so tightly it had almost hurt.  
Like he was afraid she would be torn away from him.  
And he was taking far too long with their food.

Padmé Amidala was not a passive person. If you wanted answers, you had to take action. Her chin rose determinedly and she marched to the door, prepared to give her husband a piece of her mind. She grasped the knob…  
The door wouldn't budge.  
She tugged again; took it in both hands and pulled with all the strength that she could muster, but it was shut tight. Padmé's temper flared as she continued to twist the handle vainly. She knew that something was wrong and Anakin had sensed it –  
and instead of being honest with her or telling her what was going on, he had locked her in. She growled in frustration and banged loudly on the door.  
_Anakin, you nerfherder! _She yelled mentally, hoping he heard her and sensed her anger with him. She may be pregnant, but she was _not_ helpless.  
Padmé filled her lungs with air, ready to shout for him to open this door or so help her, she would –  
A muffled voice issued from down the hall.  
She couldn't make out the words but there was no mistaking the cultured tone, the proper Coruscanti accent.  
Padmé's blood turned to ice water in her veins. She had to get out of this room. Anakin's life was in danger, and she could not let him and his best friend destroy each other. She started knocking incessantly, without regard for who might hear her.  
Obi-Wan knew everything anyway.  
"_Anakin!_ Anakin Skywalker, you open this door _right now!"_

* * *

Obi-Wan was aware that Anakin was waiting for him in the other room, and knew that he could no longer delay in inevitable. He felt the darkness and the rage brewing inside his friend – a roiling cauldron of shadows punctuated with strange, brief flickers of light, as swift as shooting stars. He also felt the walls that kept it at bay.  
Truly, his power had grown.  
Obi-Wan immersed himself in the Force, letting it fill him up as one fills a jar with water, and strode into the spacious room, a picture of serenity. Anakin stood calmly in the center of the spherical area, hands clasped behind his back and clad in dark pants, boots, and a thin nightrobe.  
"Awake at last, I see," Obi-Wan said mildly.  
Anakin's blood boiled over the remark, but he kept his expression bland – although his hands flexed around the hilt of his lightsaber. "I didn't know we were expecting a visitor," his tone was laced with sarcasm, "or I would have tidied up."  
A dull pounding echoed down the far hall, and Anakin was blasted with Padmé's furious cry, _Anakin, you nerfherder!  
_He winced inwardly. She would not easily forgive him for this, but at least he could be certain that she and the twins were safe. He quickly cut off all thought of his family and glared at his old Master. "What are you doing here, Obi-Wan?" He uncoiled smoothly from his relaxed posture and paced sideways, placing himself between the Jedi Master and his wife.

Obi-Wan's blue-grey eyes filled with sorrow. "Why, Anakin?" he asked quietly, and Anakin felt a sharp pain jab his heart as the meaning behind the question awoke visions of bodies on the Temple floor, the stench of death and blood heavy in the air, and the guilt that threatened to bring him to his knees…  
Anakin snarled, "Because I made a choice – the _only_ choice I had."  
Obi-Wan studied him in silence, focusing on the tattered remnants of their bond, and received a shock of fear so white-hot in its intensity that it scorched his nerves. His eyes widened.  
"It was for Padmé," he said in realization.  
Anakin blinked, startled, but his surprised expression rapidly clouded with wrath. "You will not take her from me!" he hissed.  
Whatever had happened – and Obi-Wan was fairly certain he knew – had driven Anakin into a state of near-paranoid obsession over the woman he loved.  
He heard distant thumping and wondered if Padmé understood just how much Anakin had sacrificed for her.  
It was probably better that she didn't.

Obi-Wan asked sadly, "What did you see?"  
"_Dreams pass in time_ – isn't that what you told me?" Anakin bit out. But his terror over losing the one thing that gave his life meaning had returned tenfold and seeped into the Force like a slow poison, killing his ties to the rest of the galaxy.  
"I know better than to dismiss your premonitions, Anakin, they have saved my life. What did you see?"  
Anakin seriously considered ending it right then – igniting his lightsaber to cut the Jedi traitor down…but something, perhaps his lingering feeling of trust in this man who had effectively raised him,  
made him pause.  
"I saw her die," he choked out bitterly, "giving birth to our child." Obi-Wan's sympathy washed over him, and he found himself continuing bleakly, "She was screaming for me to help her, but I…  
I couldn't move. And then I saw you."  
Why was he telling this man, his enemy, any of this?  
"You were there with her." The anger was growing, burning inside with increasing intensity, filling his numbed being with heat and power. "Where _I_ should have been. Telling her not to give up…" Anakin's handsome face twisted into a hate-filled sneer. "But you can't have her."  
His countenance changed so abruptly, Obi-Wan barely resisted the urge to step back. Anakin had fully embraced the Sith teaching that your passions contained the greatest strength.  
Fear was naturally one of the strongest, and the young Jedi had always carried that emotion in great store – but kept locked tight, deep in the caverns of his heart. Now that fear fueled the dark side  
of the Force.  
Obi-Wan was running out of time.

"You have allowed this dark lord to twist your mind, until now…" Obi-Wan stepped closer, murmuring quietly, "Until now you have become the very thing you swore to destroy."  
Anakin's blue eyes flashed, and Obi-Wan thought he saw the familiar orbs burn yellow with crimson flecks, careening him backwards to memories of a duel nearly fourteen years ago that had cost him his Master and almost his life.  
"Don't lecture me, Obi-Wan." Anakin stated angrily, "I see through the lies of the Jedi." He strode sideways, flanking the older Jedi, but his attention was fixed on the sprawling capital glinting in the pale dawn. Glancing contemptuously over a broad shoulder, he said, "I do not fear the dark side as you do." Showing Obi-Wan his back, Anakin spread his arms wide as if to encompass the universe, declaring, "I have brought peace, justice, freedom, and security to my new Empire!"  
_**Our** new Empire, _he added the silent promise to his angel as she continued to shout at him to open the door. He felt her ire plainly, as one feels the flame of a candle even when deprived of sight – but he also sensed her worry for him. It touched him deeply, but Anakin refused to put Padmé and their twins in any unnecessary danger.  
_"Your_ new Empire?" Obi-Wan challenged incredulously.  
Anakin slowly lowered his arms – a dark outline amid the bleached terrain. "Don't make me kill you."  
Obi-Wan's disbelief and troubled resignation swirled through the Force as he said forcefully, "Anakin, my loyalty has always been to the Republic – to _democracy!"_

An icy breeze tossed Anakin's hair and billowed the hem of his robe as the world seemed to hold its breath. Anakin berated himself for thinking that there was any chance that his old friend would understand. He had been disillusioned by the Jedi Order from the moment he was given into their care as an infant – he could never understand what Anakin felt for Padmé, or the need to save someone you love from a terrible fate.  
Even when it required the sacrifice of your entire existence.  
Jedi have no attachments.  
That was why they were weak.  
Anakin had forfeited everything he believed in, everything he had fought and bled and seen friends die for…for the sake of three people. His family.  
Obi-Wan's sanctimonious point of view and the maddening Jedi Code he clung to had removed his old Master from that equation. Obi-Wan was a Jedi.  
A traitor to the Empire.  
A threat to Anakin's family.  
But he had to offer him one last opportunity to stand with him – he owed him that much. Anakin replied firmly, "If you're not with me…then you're my enemy."

Obi-Wan felt the shock like a dull knife to his already flayed spirit. The culmination of everything that had transpired since the clones had turned on him in the sinkholes of Utapau began to pull at him like quicksand. He fought to remain upright with every bit of determination he possessed in his being – but his heart wept in anguish.  
His Padawan, his friend, his brother…was lost forever. He had failed.  
The Jedi Master had no choice.  
_Forgive me, _his soul whispered, but he was unsure to whom he was apologizing. Perhaps to his own shattered heart. He gave his answer steadily, but he could not hide the sadness in his voice as he said, "Only a Sith deals in absolutes."  
Sorrowful slate-colored eyes focused on the shell of his fallen friend – the brother of his heart – Obi-Wan thumbed the activator stud on his lightsaber. The blue bar of light sprang to life in his hand as he shifted into the Soresu combat stance. Anakin seemed unaffected by the threat of an armed opponent at his exposed back. The young man poured arrogance and barely suppressed rage into the Force – but the fear was still there, driving him like a beastmaster controlling a Drexyl.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, breathing in the light as he struggled, in an eternal moment, to release his attachment to the man before him. If he struck at him now, with the threads of his life so intricately woven with Anakin's… It would be far less painful to thrust his own lightsaber into his chest.  
But the bond was too strong – knotted together by years of companionship and forged like tempered steel through every conflict the war had thrown at them.  
Obi-Wan could not cut himself loose.  
Only death would sever the link.  
His eyes opened.  
"I will do what I must."


	6. Jagged Reflection

**Chapter Three**

_**Jagged Reflection**_

Padmé's knuckles were numb from the insistent rapping on the carved wooden door. It was an import from her home planet of Naboo – crafted by a master woodcarver and given to her as a gift from Queen Jamillia when she accepted the position as Senator.  
Padmé wanted to reduce it to splinters.  
She had nearly shouted herself hoarse and exhausted a _very_ colorful assortment of insults, in a wide variety of languages. But the door remained as solid as ever – and her infuriating husband did not appear at her forceful command. Padmé leaned against the doorframe, her temper cooling to smoldering embers that burned in her brown eyes, listening hard as her heartbeat thundered into her eardrums. The twins sensed their mother's agitation and reacted with frantic movements; twisting and turning, punching and kicking, they seemed to absorb Padmé's emotions and respond emphatically. Padmé touched her swollen belly, feeling the press of one of her children on her palm – but she could not summon the calm, soothing words to appease them.  
The muffled voices echoing down the hall quieted, and Padmé laid an ear on the heavy wood, brows drawn together in concentration. An uneasy silence hovered over the entire suite – a silence that was suddenly interrupted by the unmistakable _snap-hiss_ of a drawn lightsaber.

Her heart rose into her throat and for an instant, she couldn't breathe.  
Terror for the man she loved held her in a vise grip, and the edges of her vision grew white. Padmé ordered her stubborn lungs to inhale as she held onto the doorframe for support, worried that she would faint and injure her babies. Staring blankly at the floor, fear clouded her thoughts as she questioned how she could possibly raise their children without Anakin.  
Then a rational thought jolted her brain like a splash of cold water.  
Whirling away from the door, the Senator of Naboo rushed over to her side of the bed and dug under the blankets, searching. Her fingers touched warm metal, and logic immediately cooled her blistering mind. Padmé withdrew the silver Nubian blaster pistol from beneath the mattress and checked the charge. This model was outdated, but she had saved it as a memento from her days as Queen of Naboo. She had used this blaster to regain control of the Palace and free her plant from the occupation of the Trade Federation.  
But that victory had carried a severe price.

Padmé put aside the dark memories and took position a few feet from the door. Spreading her feet apart for balance, she barely resisted the triumphant smirk that curved her mouth.  
Anakin did not know that she kept a blaster under the bed. He was in for a surprise.  
She hesitated before taking aim at the doorknob. Her abrupt arrival may distract Anakin from defending himself, and she could not bear to be the cause of his defeat.  
On the other hand, her presence may diffuse a very explosive situation.  
With a decisive nod, Padmé grasped the blaster in both hands and sighted her target.  
_I never liked that door anyway. _

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The words hung in the air, adhering to the unnatural fog, and Anakin's jaw clenched.  
It was not a threat – threats he could laugh off – but a statement.  
A statement delivered as a fact.  
_That_ was what angered him.  
The leather glove creaked as he tightened his grip on his lightsaber hilt. Obi-Wan was committing a fatal mistake. He had given his old Master the chance to reconsider.  
Now he had to face the consequences.  
Anakin released the floodgates containing the inferno blazing in his chest, yet he replied coolly, "You will try."

In a single, blurred move, his blue blade ignited and the Force propelled him in a back flip that brought him directly behind the Jedi Master. Submerged in the Force, Obi-Wan spun to meet him, and the two brothers exchanged furious blows too quick for the untrained eye to follow.  
Anakin attacked with untamed viciousness, putting Obi-Wan on the defensive. His blade a whirl of energy, Obi-Wan felt his feet carry him backwards, until a blast of wind hit the Jedi from behind.  
He realized that Anakin had driven him onto the veranda.  
_No,_ he amended as he glanced at the younger man's twisted features, _this is not Anakin.  
_Vader had Anakin's knowledge and prowess, but none of his restraint or finesse. And the power behind each movement was immense.  
But Obi-Wan had fought at Anakin's side for nearly three years as equals, and trained him before that for ten. They were two halves of a whole – a reflection of each other.  
For every thrust, there was a parry.  
Neither gave ground.

Unexpectedly, those hate-filled cerulean eyes widened in horror, and the assault came to a discordant end as the young Sith froze and mouthed a single word. A name. _Padmé.  
_Above the harsh buzzing of their lightsabers, Obi-Wan heard five quick bursts of blaster fire and the sound of splintering wood from down the far hall.  
The crash of a hard kick against a weakened obstacle.  
Quick, light footsteps that increased in volume…until a petite brunette clutching an archaic silver blaster, her face flushed and dark eyes shooting sparks, reeled around the corner.  
She froze upon spotting the two Jedi on the veranda, the vibrant indigo light of their blades illuminating their expressions.  
Obi-Wan was a mixture of apprehension and amazement.  
Anakin…unqualified dread masked his handsome face.  
She stepped closer – looking regal framed by the massive winged statues placed around the threshold, holding her blaster with practiced ease as she stared at each of them in turn.  
Time appeared to stop as three souls strained for purchase in a new, abrasive environment.

Padmé stared at her husband until he uncomfortably looked down. She wondered uneasily at the foreign gleam in his eyes, and his expression told her that he was upset that she had extracted herself from her makeshift "safehouse"… But not necessarily that he was sorry to have locked her up in the first place.  
Obi-Wan marveled at the Senator's courage and fire – which he should have counted on, as he had known her for quite some time. His concern for the safety of the child weighed profoundly on  
his mind, but observing the young woman level her weapon with casual ease reminded him that she was not totally helpless.  
Anakin felt that he was spinning in zero g with no sense of a horizon. He should have known that she would never let a little thing like a locked door dissuade her from her goal.  
His wife fairly glowed with willpower in the feeble daylight, and his heart swelled with love. The fear swiftly corroded that feeling as he glanced at the small curve of her torso.  
Deciding to risk her ire further, Anakin slid sideways, shielding Padmé from Obi-Wan's view, and angled his lightsaber defensively across them both.  
He felt Padmé's surprise before she asked, "Anakin, what are you doing?"

His tormented gaze stilled her tongue as he looked at her over his shoulder and murmured painfully, "Why did you have to come out here, Padmé? I was just trying to protect you and –" he cut off, remembering that another was listening to their hushed words. "That's my duty. To protect you. I can't _do_ that if you intentionally put yourself in harm's way."  
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and she reached out and gripped his shoulder hard. "You are not my bodyguard anymore, Ani. You are my husband. Can you honestly expect me to stand aside when _you_ are in harm's way?" He smelled her sweet, spicy perfume as she kissed his cheek, and then left the shelter of his body to address Obi-Wan.  
They regarded one another silently, and the Jedi Master saw the veils part within Padmé's deep brown eyes. He saw her fear for Anakin. For his life…but most importantly, for his soul.  
She feared that Obi-Wan may have been right.  
The veils were drawn again as quickly as they had vanished, and Obi-Wan sensed her unyielding hope to prove him wrong. And he couldn't agree more.

The fleeting glance between his former mentor and his wife was not lost on Anakin. A ripple of anxiety skittered through Padmé as Obi-Wan stared at her with sad eyes, and jealousy roared in the hollow caverns of his chest. Anakin's flesh hand snaked out to grip his wife's wrist and he drew her to him, tucking her firmly against his side.  
Padmé stumbled as a strong hand caught hers and she suddenly found herself pressed into her husband's broad chest, his arm linked tight around her shoulders. "Ani?" Her dark eyes drifted to his face as the blue-white flare of his lightsaber rose before them protectively. "Anakin, what are you doing?" she asked again, with a considerable amount of determination. It was a tone that broached no delays – she expected an answer, now.  
She watched his jaw clench as he kept his eyes on Obi-Wan, and his embrace constricted her movement as he pressed her body closer. Her palm came to rest on his chest, a sheen of moisture on his skin. She could feel his heart thundering wildly and her breath caught in her throat. His pulse was incredibly fast; a normal human would fall into cardiac arrest.  
And his skin was unbelievably hot, as if he was on fire inside.

He must have sensed her fear, for he finally spared her a glance and murmured softly, "It's all right, Padmé, I'm fine. I promise." His eyes had softened as well as he spoke, and for a handful of heartbeats she actually believed him. It obviously pleased him, for he returned his attention to the Jedi Master watching the exchange warily, and she saw him change.  
The blue eyes that would shimmer like captured stars, that would convey all of the things he felt for her…died.  
The azure pools cooled, yet burned at the same time, like the taut skin under her fingertips. Ice-hot orbs that once smoldered with love now promised death.  
Padmé's mind flashed to her dream. She shivered, the hair on the back of her neck pinching, and her stomach twisted uncomfortably. Her small hands fisted on Anakin's robe and she looked up at him, pleading, "Ani…Anakin, don't do this, please."  
Anakin heard her calling to him across the black chasm of his rage, and felt a brief surge of annoyance. If she had only stayed in the bedroom like she was _supposed to_ then this fight would already be over and they would be on their way to Naboo. The Force suddenly thrust the vision he'd had on his journey back to Coruscant into his head – only this time it was different. He saw himself walking through the charred ruins of a great city. He saw that man pause, and his gaze light up. He saw a hand reach out to…  
The vision swirled violently, and he heard someone sobbing. No, not someone – _her_.

Anakin sank like a stone tossed into deep water.  
Padmé had shared his vision; there was no other explanation. How or why, he did not know, nor did it change the truth of their situation. In that distorted world, she had seen what he had become and in fear for her safety and that of their unborn children, retreated, her wounded soul crying as it was torn from his.  
And he had caused it.  
Whether it was now or in the future, all the threads were connected to him. And he chose which ones to sever and which to keep.  
_What have I done?  
_He was dimly aware that he was kneeling on the hard stone of the balcony; Padmé's curls wafting around his face and shoulders as she crouched beside him, eyes wide with worry.  
He saw her beautiful mouth moving, but he could not hear her words. The vision continued to haunt every second of his life. Anakin sank deeper into darkness; if it sought to claim him, so be it. Anything to hide him from the uncertainty that smothered him like a wet blanket, sucking the oxygen out of his world.

The fires caged inside his heart screamed to be loosed, vowing to fill him with vitality if he would but use that power. He had the ability to _change_ the vision if he wished – he was not bound to one chain of events. He was the _Chosen One!  
_But doubt devoured the edges of his mind, and he floated in grey numbness. He had removed himself from the philosophy of the Jedi Order, and the stark realization that his angel had shared in his nightmarish vision had thrust him out of the black grip of the Sith. He was nothing.  
Perhaps he belonged in this world between worlds. Maybe that was how he was to bring balance, if the prophecy could be trusted. But trust had become a foreign emotion to Anakin. He had trusted in his dreams and gone to his mother, and she had died in his arms amid the sands of Tatooine. He had trusted the Jedi Council to finally acknowledge his accomplishments and grant him the title he deserved, and they had shoved him callously aside. He had trusted Palpatine in the role of mentor and guide since he was a small boy, spilling his secrets like water, and the Chancellor turned out to be the Sith Lord whose goal was to overthrow the galaxy.  
Trust was an enemy to Anakin Skywalker.  
Flames licked at the edges of his colorless existence, fueled by vengeful fury. Everything he had ever devoted himself to, given shards of his precious soul – betrayed him.  
Save one.  
His gaze slowly focused on her flawless face, framed by a riot of brown curls, and silently renewed the vow that he would not lose her. Not to the Senate, not to Obi-Wan, not to death.  
She belonged to him.

Padmé was the one, pure, beautiful thing in his life. She filled him with sunshine and hope, and their little ones nestled inside her fulfilled every dream he had dared to wish for.  
The fire burst behind his pupils, and the world exploded with brightness. Anakin pulled himself to his feet, keenly aware of Padmé's soft hand on his arm and her quiet entreaty for him to tell her that he was all right. He felt energized as the flames warmed him inside once more, fresh strength flowing into his muscles and determination flooding his mind.  
His eyes found the Jedi Master standing near his docked star fighter, and his mouth twisted in a scornful smirk. Blue light emerged from the hilt clenched in his hand, as the other gently yet firmly guided his wife's slender frame to the side. He would not listen to her pleas any longer. She was a greathearted woman and he adored her for that…but her compassion was wasted on this man, this traitor who would destroy them if given the chance.  
Anakin would not give him that chance.  
His eyes burned, but he welcomed the pain as well as the surge of power coursing through his veins. His old friend blinked at him, blatant shock written on his features.  
_"This ends now."  
_It rumbled through the Force, and Obi-Wan's face hardened. He fell into the stance Anakin had seen countless times, the tip of the Jedi's blade pointing towards him.  
Then everything happened at once.


	7. Interlude Three: Angel Among the Stars

**Interlude Three  
**_**Angel Among the Stars**_

This is not happening.  
My husband and his teacher; his mentor; the man he once told me was like a father – circle one another like planets orbiting a star. Deadly bars of blue light are grasped with the ease of master swordsmen in each of their hands, and the hum of the blades permeates the air.  
I must do something. I must stop this catastrophic ordeal before it throws my overturned world even further off its axis.  
But I am no Jedi.  
I cannot wield the Force as these two beacons of power do so effortlessly.  
And the tiny shards of hope shifting inside acutely remind me that I have others to protect. Others who cannot defend themselves.  
I will die before anything happens to my babies.

My blaster is useless in this fight – even if I could somehow reach the impossible conclusion of whom to shoot first. Facing an opponent with the preternatural ability to anticipate an attack  
leaves the chance of success slim, at best.  
The weapon I can wield here, and have some likelihood of success…is my voice.  
The voice of Padmé Amidala is one of strength and reason in the Galactic Senate.  
The voice of Padmé Amidala is the melody that can soothe the tempestuous heart of one man.  
The silver pistol taps idly against the soft folds of my gown as I eye the battleground critically. The burnished gold locks of my husband constantly face me; as he sizes up his adversary,  
he operates under the assumption that I require protection.  
How he can believe that the Jedi Master could attack me is beyond my comprehension.  
Something has changed in him – I see it clearly now.  
The shadow lurking behind his beautiful eyes has seeped out of his pores and cloaked him, hiding the one I love from view.  
This is why he will not look at me.  
Because I am not fooled by this strange, jagged reflection.

My palm rests on my womb; the little stars move about nervously, but my touch reassures them and they settle. I draw strength from the warmth and the promise of fulfilled dreams under my fingers, even as my pulse beats a rapid tattoo in fear against my throat.  
I push the fear aside; I cannot let the terror of an uncertain future rule over me any longer.  
My heart stretches out – as it did in the waning light of dawn – to brush against the one who shares it, whose own essence is twined inexorably with mine.  
_Anakin…listen to me.  
_My limited understanding of the energy field that binds the galaxy together and is harnessed by the living power conduit that is my husband prevents me from discerning if he hears my unspoken plea. But I watch his every movement – my interpretation of his body language affords some measure of certainty.  
The muscles on his back shift the thin fabric of his robe as he stalks the veranda like a predator. My hand presses more urgently onto my stomach; the physical reminder of a part of Anakin living inside me sustaining me, even as the hand loosely holding a blaster shakes involuntarily.  
This is not my Ani.  
There is nothing about this…_stranger_ that I recognize.  
He is completely focused on the battle, on the inevitable conflict that will end in either his death or the death of his best friend, and he welcomes it. His entire body exudes the confidence and bloodlust of a carnivore on the hunt. A hunt it knows it can win.  
Hopelessness closes around me; I feel as if I've fallen into a frozen river, the icy current dragging me down in blind numbness.  
_You've changed._

The thought surfaces unbidden, and the cruel fist of reality drives a hammer through carefully constructed illusions of peace and security for us – for our family.  
Illusions are never made to last.  
The shattered remnants shimmer behind my eyes like shards of mirrors, mocking me as they reflect all of the moments that were out of place, when I should have seen that I was allowing myself  
to become a pawn in a maze of deceit.  
He created them. Perhaps he even believes them.  
Horrific images explode inside my brain – images of lightsabers and blaster fire and children fleeing through dark, columned corridors followed by a black shadow and white armor…  
The numbness threatens to engulf me, and the small piece of logic left realizes that I am in shock. The sound builds in my eardrums – the energy discharge of assault rifles, the steady hum  
of a Jedi sword, and the shouts of pain and betrayal…  
"_Master Skywalker, there are too many of them! What are we going to do?"  
_  
The ice floods my mind, and the unbearable images fade into blackness. Everything fades.  
A sudden pulse against my palm causes warmth to tease my fingertips, and my skin tingles.  
It seems as if I am watching myself from far away. I stare down at the swell in utter detachment and bemusement.  
Another throb under my fingers – harder, more insistent – and the overwhelming rush of returning to my senses makes me gasp and stagger into an ornate pillar.  
Distantly, the crash of opposing lightsabers fills the silence, and I slowly focus on the tall, darkly clad figure weaving a pattern of intense blue through the air.  
The wind stings my cheeks with bitter cold, and I realize that they are wet.  
But I will not cry any more.  
I am Padmé Amidala Skywalker. I have fought in two wars, side by side with Jedi.  
I have ruled over my planet and its people to the best of my ability. I have served democracy and the citizens of the Republic as a Galactic Senator, and I will see that great government restored  
to an even brighter future. I will ensure that my children do not live in fear.  
I will find a way.

Resolve strikes a flame inside me like a spark ignites kindling, and the numbness of despair flees. The little ones pulled me from the edge of the abyss – how is unimportant, although the practical facet of my nature rationalizes that I have merely become aware once more of my surroundings and my unborn children's movement served as an anchor for my psyche.  
Not everything in this universe can be rationalized or categorized, and the desire for a logical explanation recedes. The twins saved me from my own selfish misery; they are my – _our_ miracles, and their mysterious power is one more gift bestowed upon me.  
_Help me_, I address them silently, blocking out the prickling sensation of foolishness, and envision their tiny, perfect faces. _Help me reach him.  
_The heat of a thousand suns blooms in my chest, and all emotion is swallowed by an intense swell of love. It is unfettered, pure, and I have never before felt anything so innocent… except in those rare times with Ani when all the cares of this world diminish. My eyes fall closed, and I picture him in my mind, existing in one of those eternal moments, and he turns to me, his smile brightening the sky…  
_Anakin._

The call vibrates through the cord connecting us and then, something brushes against my spirit, like the soft down of a feather. My eyes snap open as he falters simultaneously. It only lasts for a smattering of seconds, but it speaks to me with a voice of its own. Head slightly tilted as if listening to faraway music, the confident set of his shoulders twitches in response to the unexpected contact.  
Tears clog my throat, yet do not spill down my raw cheekbones as I mouth the words repeated in the ether between our souls.  
_Don't leave me.  
_His refined, practiced mental touch latches onto my sending like a hand reaching out for aid.  
The sensation is beyond description; my awestruck mind wonders if this is how he sees the universe each day – colors leap out at me with startling intensity, the tiniest noises are instantly loud, and the passion of all I feel takes my breath away.  
He withdraws roughly, the chill of an unexpected twilight in the brilliance of our link shivering over me as I return to my body in the realm of mortals. I struggle to process what just happened within the hidden depths of my mind. Dimly I focus on Obi-Wan's face, scarcely visible above my husband's left shoulder. He looks so tired, and older than the last time I saw him, yet there is a peculiar gleam in his sad, wise gaze.  
As if he knows what I am attempting and the thought causes him to waver between sorrow and hope.  
My Ani's head slowly rotates to glance over the opposite shoulder, his posture relaxing so his blade points toward the ground. Sweat has lashed strands of his unruly hair to his forehead and cheeks, and his brows have risen so high that they seem to disappear as he stares at me in amazement. His eyes…

I stumble backwards, the dark ice flooding my veins. Denial screams from my heart, shrieking that it is not real, that it can't be real. I recoil from his outstretched hand, horrified alarm beating rapidly in my chest until my back slams into the cool stone of a far pillar.  
"Padmé?" It is his voice, the tone full of tenderness and a twinge of hurt surprise. But he is not speaking. "What's wrong?"  
Those eyes do not belong in his beautiful face. Those eyes burn through me like acid – unforgiving golden orbs ringed with crimson, they suffuse me with dread and instinctively my free arm embraces the haven for my children.  
This is not happening.

"Who are you…?" A weak whisper rasps into the wind – a voice that should be mine.  
He steps closer, his flesh hand raised to brush the curls from my cheek, and suddenly he freezes, staring at the shaft of silver clutched in my hands. I will my hands to cease shaking with fear, and steadily my gaze captures those unfamiliar, terrifying eyes over the barrel of my blaster pistol.  
My life has become a nightmare.  
A monster capable of killing children wears my husband's skin and pretends that he can take the place of the one I love. I will not surrender to the illusion. My Anakin is in there somewhere, buried inside the darkness – I know it. I believe it.  
But I will do whatever is necessary to protect our future.  
A trickle of salt water escapes the corner of my eye. It is colder than my chilled skin. The ice imprisons my flesh, but I am calm. The frost has not yet invaded my heart.  
_Who are you?_


	8. Consequences of Rage

**Chapter Four  
**_**Consequences of Rage**_

Anakin's world had gone black.  
The ire he felt for the man standing across from him bubbled up like boiling liquid in his chest, and he was consumed. With the echo of his vicious promise still ringing in the Force, Anakin launched himself at the Jedi Master with renewed ferocity, the wind singing eerily in his ears. His only thought, his sole focus, was how much he wanted to kill Obi-Wan Kenobi. It drove him through every thrust of his lightsaber, every rush of adrenaline that surged into his muscles. The fear that had tormented him with premonitions of his beloved's death shrank from his rage.  
The rage was his world.  
Something flickered on the edge of his awareness, like the first hesitant star rising in early twilight. It was so small – utterly insignificant compared to the roiling inferno that he dismissed it easily.  
_Anakin.  
_Carrying across the black abyss, the voice called in a pure tone that penetrated every cell of his body until it became a low thrum resonating in his bone marrow. He felt it tug at something deep inside him – something that the blackness now concealed and held at bay. Like the breeze that rustled the folds of his robe, it neither demanded nor threatened; yet he found he could not ignore it.  
The thickening darkness parted around Anakin, and he stumbled slightly, his limbs forgetting to move as all previous thought fled. Concentrating on the tremor that was flavored with a presence he knew intimately, but could not believe that it was possible, he sought the source of the call.  
Delicate threads, gossamer and shimmering like starlight and too numerous to count, linked his bruised, deadened heart to the only woman he could ever love. He stared in amazement at this rare vision in the Force – a representation of the bond he had felt with Padmé the first time he had set eyes on her. The threads wove around their hearts, and began trembling in perfect harmony with every beat.

_Don't leave me.  
_Her words came to him with crystalline clarity, reaching out as she had only hours ago, using the threads connecting them as a channel. He did not know how, nor did he care.  
With the assurance of one trained in the ways of the Force, he touched her essence with his, determined to offer the same consolation as before – the kind only he could give.  
The universe exploded.  
Anakin felt as if he had brushed against a supernova; the blackness was burned away in blinding light, and he threw up an arm to shield his eyes from the glare. Never had he felt such raw power, so all-consuming that the dark taint in his soul screeched in fear, but he sensed a feeling of wholeness, and it was beautiful.  
Padmé was all around him; her presence flowed around him and through him like water, and she glowed like a star beside him. There were echoes, as well – tiny lights flitting about like the bioluminescent insects on Naboo. They orbited around Padmé, and then all was white. It blazed around him, the flames licking at the stains of death and betrayal that he wore, and he was afraid.  
He was afraid that if the flames were allowed to cleanse him, there would be nothing left.

Abruptly, he severed the link, and gasped as the shadows floated about him instantly.  
Relief followed the shadows, and he felt a burst of self-loathing mixed with apprehension that he had become something that preferred the darkness. But he needed to see her.  
Slowly, Anakin turned, focusing on the small form of his wife. Their eyes met…and he blinked in surprise when her face turned white and she skittered away from him, pressing herself against a carved pillar. His heart twisted painfully at the naked fear in her dark eyes.  
Whatever he may look like, she had to know it was him. She _had_ to.  
"Padmé?" He asked softly, tenderly, approaching her with careful slowness."What's wrong?"

She stared up at him like she did not know him, her eyes so wide that they consumed her pale face. One slender arm was curled around their unborn children, and she whispered weakly, "Who are you…?"  
An icy blade plunged through his breastbone and pierced his heart.  
The trusting gaze of the Younglings in the Temple flashed before his eyes, and then the terror that marred their faces as he ignited his lightsaber. He had fallen to his knees afterwards, unable to see them lying on the floor, and he felt so disgusted that he wanted to die. He told himself countless times that he did it for Padmé, for their twins…but he could never tell her. She could never know that her life was the bargaining chip in his pact with a Sith Lord. Because to him, she was worth the sacrifice of hundreds of lives.  
He raised his hand to gently brush her cheek – and a glint of metal suddenly leveled at his chest, and he lost his footing on reality.  
His angel was pointing a blaster at him.

Her expression was deadly calm, but a tear escaped the corner of her eye as she stared at him over the barrel of the weapon in her hands. The black fires of his anger began to creep towards her.  
He struggled to speak, asking darkly, "Padmé, what are you doing?"  
Her chin quivered as she fought to keep her voice from shaking. "Obi-Wan was right. You've changed."  
_Changed…  
_Shock mingled with the anger as Anakin stared blankly at Padmé. What was happening?  
He had done all this for _her_ – the treachery, the death, and the darkness – all for her.  
And now she was turning on him?  
Perhaps he was changed; he could not deny it. The darkness was shaping him, re-forging a Jedi, a warrior of Light, into a wielder of the dark side. But that did not mean that what _they _had was changed. He _loved_ her. He loved her enough to eliminate every being in the galaxy if it could keep them together. Then the rest of her statement sank in. _"Obi-Wan was right…"  
_His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I don't want to hear any more about Obi-Wan. The Jedi turned against me – don't you turn against me."

Even though his anger blazed so hot that it blistered his nerves, Anakin felt the sting of regret as soon as those words left his mouth. He could only watch his angel grow paler, her lips whitening as they parted in shock. She was trembling so hard that the blaster rattled in her grasp, and Anakin's arms ached to hold her, to soothe her fears and find his own solace in her warmth.  
But the shaking pistol remained locked onto his broad chest, and the steely resolve he knew Padmé contained within every cell kept her from dropping the weapon altogether. Anakin could scarcely remain centered in his own frayed consciousness with the chasm between them widening, a frigid wind whistling through the empty spaces that she once filled.  
He could sense her pulling away from him, and the gut-wrenching terror of her absence in his life coiled around the base of his brain, choking off all rationality.

The high-pitched whine of Padmé's grief saturated the atmosphere, grating against him like a serrated blade. He took a desperate lope towards her, arms outstretched in surrender, certain that if she did shoot he would not feel it. She was his sun, his rain…he would freeze to death in this black night without her. Her slim shoulders tensed as he neared, the shrill whine increasing in volume and intensity. Her gaze suddenly slid sideways to a spot above his right shoulder, a burst of sunlight covering her white face in a sheen of gold. She squinted into the glare, and sent a charge of horror into the Force as she screamed, "Look—!"  
Something struck the ground near Anakin's boot, creating a blackened crater in the veranda, and another sliced through the air under his arm, the heat leaving a smoldering circle in the sleeve of his robe. Weaving in and out of the piercing screech that filled his ears, Anakin heard muffled shouts, blaster discharges, and a whirring lightsaber – the only constant companions he had had for five months in the Outer Rim. He thought that he had fallen into another vision, another reminder of his failures…  
But all he saw was Padmé.

Her mouth was frozen in a small "oh" of surprise, a tear snaking down the elegant curve of her jaw as her head slowly tilted to look at the scorched hole near her collarbone.  
She looked up at him, and the fear vanished from her velvety brown eyes like the morning mist. She radiated compassion and unconditional love, a tiny smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "Ani…" The blaster slipped from her limp fingers and clattered on the floor, and her eyes fell closed as she arced gracefully toward the smooth stone.  
And the universe ceased to exist.

* * *

Anakin felt the razor-keen talons of despair dig into his muscles.  
Everything disappeared in a distorted wash of light and shadow – the noise, the blackness…until there was nothing. He knew that he was losing his mind. His already unstable perch on sanity was teetering dangerously toward oblivion when Padmé drew her blaster on him. Only one thought remained, floating abstractly in the grey void.  
_No.  
_In one swift, fluid motion the Chosen One caught his wife's motionless body and cradled her in his arms as if she were made of spun glass. "Padmé, Padmé," he whispered her name brokenly, over and over, brushing loose curls from her fair cheeks. Alarm slammed through his ribcage over how cold her skin felt under his fingers. Biting his lower lip to keep from screaming, Anakin shifted his precious burden to look at the wound marring her otherwise flawless form.  
It was a clean shot, one a marksman would be proud to claim – a neat entry through the gap between the shoulder and collarbone, where only muscle and sinew hindered the course of the energy bolt. Dull pain washed over him as his teeth punctured his lip, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. The shot was precise, and orchestrated to incapacitate the target rather than eliminate it. Anakin had lived over three years of his life on the battlefields of the Clone Wars, and each conflict left scars…on his flesh and his soul. He had seen what the clones were capable of accomplishing; he had seen it on Jabiim, on Neimoidia, countless Outer Rim settlements…

And in the pillared halls of the Jedi Temple.  
Pieces of his fractured reality began clicking together.  
The radio silence on his comm as he had entered Coruscant's atmosphere.  
Padmé's mysteriously absent handmaidens and staff.  
The shrill whine piercing his eardrums.  
And the sounds of battle surrounding him like a sinister repetition of every campaign he had fought in the name of the Republic.  
ARC troopers.  
A red haze gathered around his disjointed thoughts, sending fire into his veins, but Anakin's touch was infinitely gentle as he examined Padmé's injury with the eyes of one who had seen far worse in the midst of varied combat zones. The flesh had been cauterized by the blaster's high-power beam, so loss of blood was not a concern. But it would cause her a great deal of pain, and the trauma to the surrounding tissues would leave her entire shoulder bruised.  
Not to mention the enormous emotional stress she had been under for the past few months, and the continuous changes her body was undergoing – _The twins!_ Anakin thought wildly.  
In his consuming worry for his angel, he had completely forgotten about the tiny embodiments of hope sheltered inside her.  
Struggling to ignore the twinge of guilt, Anakin sent a tendril of perception through the Force into Padmé's womb. The thought that he may lose them all was unbearable, so much so that his fevered brain refused to process that outcome. His chest rose and fell with a brief, relieved sigh when he sensed two heartbeats pulsing within her. They were safe.

The white fog tunneling his vision to his family started thinning, and Anakin heard someone calling his name, distantly, through a torrent of explosions that rang like thunder in the air.  
He tore his gaze from Padmé's white face and searched the horizon.  
A Republic attack gunship hovered nearly 20 meters from the elegant curve of the veranda, spewing green light at an indistinct figure enveloped in a whirling field of indigo.  
The gunship glided sideways, and a contingent of troopers leapt onto the balcony, five of them moving to surround the stalwart Jedi Master as the commander, his white armor splashed with crimson on the helmet and shoulders to indicate his rank, made his way to Anakin and saluted.  
"The area is secure, Lord Vader."

Not _Commander Skywalker_ – but _Lord Vader_. He was no longer recognized by the title he had earned in combat by these men whom he had once trusted with his life – but now addressed by the name given him by Sidious, the Emperor.  
It sickened him.  
Flames singed the corneas of his eyes as he knelt there on the cool stone, his wife pressed against him as fragments of the past few days twinkled at him like falling stars.  
He had thought that the knowledge he could attain from the Chancellor would release him from his nightmares. He had reasoned that he could achieve the power to keep Padmé from the terrible fate that flashed behind his eyelids each time he blinked. He had thought that turning to the dark side would grant him the freedom he had craved his entire life.  
He had thought wrong.  
Everything was _wrong_.  
The polar opposites of his existence came clashing together in that one instant, grappling for dominion of the Chosen One's conscience.  
_ARC troopers were stationed around my wife's apartment.  
__They were there to keep her safe!  
__It's my responsibility to protect her.  
__Why should you bother if she does not want you anymore?  
__She was scared for the twins.  
__She pointed a blaster at you!  
__That is no reason for them to shoot her.  
__You would rather she shot you?_

Anakin pressed his gloved hand against his temple, the warring voices driving him towards the brink of the blackest pit.  
"My Lord?"  
The huddled figure in front of the commander shuddered, and the tangled mass of bronze locks lifted slightly, a pair of molten-yellow orbs gleaming within the shadowed face.  
An animalistic snarl twisting its features, the mouth opened and screamed with an inhuman voice that burrowed into the commander's skull, rupturing blood vessels and shattering his helmet's visor as well as the transparisteel windows on every building within an eight thousand-meter radius. The seismic upheaval of the natural flow of the Force sent ripples into all corners of the universe.  
Stars imploded. Asteroids crashed into one another, leaving smoldering trails of rock and dust. Creatures suddenly fell dead. Others inexplicably returned to life.  
The Force itself experienced the raging anguish of the Chosen One.

Yet lying on that quaking stone, wrapped in an impenetrable blanket of energy, three souls remained cocooned from the destructive power.  
And it was this single flickering light that called Anakin from the crackling black fires of the void looming before him. Its beacon of hope beckoned to him…and with great effort…  
He opened his eyes.

* * *

Obi-Wan was tired.  
It was not simply physical weariness; the Force rejuvenated his parched body like a glass of the coldest water. It was exhaustion of the soul.  
Blue-grey eyes that revealed a new maturity that made him appear far older than his years watched as a forbidden love began to unravel. He was the sole spectator to this romance that had blossomed and been cultivated before his very eyes – and the eyes of the Jedi Council.  
The fatigued Jedi allowed his ruminations to carry him into his memories as he fought to maintain the willpower to finish what had begun between himself and Anakin.  
The other Masters did not, or could not, have seen the effects of the relationship upon his former Padawan. Anakin had always carried the memory of the young handmaiden who was a queen tucked in his breast. At the time, Obi-Wan had not seen the harm in a homesick boy determined to outshine all expectations of an obscure prophecy cherishing visions of a dear friend whom he may never see again.  
That had been _before_ Anakin's assignment as Senator Amidala's bodyguard.

The older Jedi knew of his apprentice's infatuation with the Senator, though he hid it well, in spite of his youth and fiery temperament. In a rare moment of calm before the assassin's second attempt on the Senator's life, the young man had confided his muddled feelings to Obi-Wan. It had surprised the Knight enough that he had paused to form a reply.  
"_Just being around her again is…intoxicating."  
_Obi-Wan had cautioned his student to be wary of those feelings, and reminded Anakin of his commitment to the Order. He could see that the boy was not listening – or at least not taking his advice seriously. In hindsight, Obi-Wan wished that he had protested more earnestly to Yoda and Mace about handing over the protection of Senator Amidala to an exceptionally gifted Padawan who had not yet mastered his unruly emotions. He had reasoned, based on the other Master's explanations, that the task had been a test for Anakin.  
Anakin's dream was to become a Jedi. Not just any Jedi, but the Chosen One – the being that would fulfill the prophecy and bring balance to the Force. It was his destiny.  
Qui-Gon Jinn had believed that of him, as did many within the Order. Even Obi-Wan himself had witnessed glimpses of the young man's full potential, and they left him breathless. But Anakin was also a boy on the threshold of manhood, barely controlling his feelings for a woman he could never have.  
Or perhaps he had decided to unleash them after he and the Senator were safely hidden away from her attackers and the rest of the galaxy. Obi-Wan could only surmise that this was what had triggered the outcome that faced them now.

He should have seen it then.  
The brief contact they had with one another in Obi-Wan's presence had been tentative, awkward, and guarded. Despite the dense shielding around his thoughts, Anakin made his true intentions plain each time his ice-hot blue eyes flashed in her direction.  
The Senator was reserved and polite – choosing her words well, as any skilled diplomat, she deflected Anakin's smoldering looks with stoic tranquility. Concern had also flitted in the depths of her dark brown eyes that a would-be Jedi was harboring such sentiments.  
Obi-Wan had watched the pair board the transport to Naboo in a mixture of dread and optimism, thinking that Padmé's levelheaded personality would help her spurn any declarations Anakin may make and he, in return, would allow the experience to teach him and draw upon his training to overcome his passions.  
Obi-Wan now scoffed at his own naïveté.  
The parting remark of Captain Typho served as the Jedi Master's first warning: _"I'd be more concerned about _her_ doing something than him."  
_The second came in a Republic gunship soaring above the red sands of Geonosis.

In pursuit of Count Dooku, their pilot momentarily lost visibility as he struggled to evade enemy fire and bumped into a large dune. Sensing the danger, Anakin and Obi-Wan had managed to grasp the webbing suspended above their heads as the transport lurched wildly.  
A startled cry, a flash of white – and Padmé tumbled from view into the swirling dust.  
The gust of anguish from the young man beside him had rocked Obi-Wan more than the swaying gunship. Screaming her name as he leaned out of the doorway in a futile attempt to catch the Senator, he had demanded that the ship land and retrieve their lost passenger.  
Obi-Wan, concerned as he was for Padmé's safety, sternly reprimanded his Padawan for allowing personal feelings to cloud his judgment. The heated argument that had followed unmasked what  
Obi-Wan refused to see.  
"_Lower the ship!"  
_"_I can't take Dooku alone. I need you. If we catch him we can end this war right now! We have a job to do!"  
_"_I don't care – put the ship down!"  
_"_You will be expelled from the Jedi Order!"  
_"_I can't leave her!"  
_Desperation and anger peppered every syllable – but there had been the faintest touch of an indefinable sensation that puzzled the Jedi Master immensely. His apprentice's entire countenance was bathed in this bittersweet impression.  
Obi-Wan knew at that instant.  
And he had reacted fiercely, hoping to somehow dissuade the inevitable turn of events and appeal to Anakin's sense of duty. It had worked. For a little while.

After Anakin lost the duel – and his arm – to Dooku, Obi-Wan had found himself pulled into a swift current of war councils, battle strategies, and mission briefings. His Padawan, whom his cared for more than he would admit, was so distraught and depressed by his loss that Obi-Wan granted him permission to escort Senator Amidala back to Naboo without a qualm. When Anakin returned a few days later for their first campaign, he was different.  
Obi-Wan wanted to ignore the truth, to pretend that he had not failed to cement this aspect of a Jedi's life into Anakin's training. But his young friend was so…_alive_ now, and it became obvious to the older Jedi that Anakin's connection to the Force was strengthening – not just through practice and honing his skills in battle – but something else.  
So the Jedi Master invented excuses not to confront the newly appointed Knight or report his misgivings to the Council, of which he was now a member.  
By now their love was so distressingly clear that Obi-Wan worried for them both.  
They were very careful, even when together in a public forum, but the signs were written all over them – especially to an observer who already suspected a relationship.  
The benefits of Jedi training afforded Anakin heavy camouflage over his illicit feelings for Padmé. His eyes, however, had no such disguise.

Those bright sapphire orbs would flash like lightning any time Senator Amidala was mentioned, or when Obi-Wan announced that they were being given a brief respite from assignments and heading home. Padmé was the exact opposite. Her years of political education allowed her to don expressionless masks so that none of her emotions were visible to anyone. But whenever Anakin entered the room, or was brought up in a Senate meeting, she lit up in the Force. Longing and excitement exploded like fireworks in her essence, and Obi-Wan was resigned to admit that in spite of all the rules each of them strived to uphold – they had formed an attachment too potent to dissolve.  
It was this attachment that the Jedi Master felt humming with power, and jolted his mind out of the past. He had never felt such a concentration of Force energy – especially not emanating from a single person. A person, who, he was fairly confident, had no sensitivity to the Force whatsoever.  
Yet Padmé Amidala continued to emit waves of energy like an overcharged power cell, infusing her mysterious link to Anakin with pulses of light. The shadow-cloaked form of his old friend appeared frozen in the bright vortex, and then the power suddenly winked out – as if someone had thrown a switch. More threads of this tightly and intricately woven love affair tore loose as a frightened Padmé retreated from Anakin and aimed her blaster at his advancing presence.

"Padmé, what are you doing?" His growled query rose over the shrieking wind.  
Her tremulous reply made Obi-Wan's injured heart throb painfully. "Obi-Wan was right. You've changed."  
The air around Anakin seemed to darken, as the sky before a storm. Obi-Wan felt strange tingles along his nerve endings – his interpretation of the Force issuing a warning. He braced himself to intervene as Anakin said with barely restrained venom, "I don't want to hear any more Obi-Wan. The Jedi turned against me – don't you turn against me."  
The Jedi Master stood perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet; every muscle tensed to spring to Padmé's aid should this monster that used to be his best friend choose to strike.  
But retaliation did not come.  
Instead, Obi-Wan perceived peculiar variations within their essences – especially Anakin.  
It was as if the young man were straddling the dividing line between the extremes of the universe; good and evil, light and dark, life and death, love and hate – all existed within him at that instant, and the slip of a woman before him was the pivot. A high-pitched whine filled the rigid silence, and the Force was electrified by horror as it guided Obi-Wan to spin on heel and bring his lightsaber to bear just in front of his left eye.

The energy bolt that smashed into the blade caused the Jedi Master to adjust his footing, but soon he was deflecting a torrent of blasterfire from an unknown assailant lurking just out of sight, using the heavy fog as camouflage. Obi-Wan felt himself slip into the persona of the Negotiator as he shouted with authority, "Anakin, I need your help!"  
The fierce blue light he wielded appeared to take on a life of its own, whirling and spinning in a protective cage around him as the shrill noise intensified. Obi-Wan's slate eyes widened, stunned, as a Republic attack gunship emerged from the fog, its bubble cannons trained on him as they sent out green energy bolts. _"Anakin!"_ He shouted once more, desperation leaking into his sharp tone as he called upon the Force to sustain him. He felt nothing from Anakin – absolutely nothing, and that worried him more than anything else he had seen and felt in the past few days. Padmé's presence was faint as well, radiating a blankness that made Obi-Wan concerned that she may have fallen unconscious.

Booted feet hit the stone of the veranda, and Obi-Wan's head jerked sideways to see a group of clone troopers disembark from the gunship and begin to fire upon him, forming a loose circle. His back to the open expanse of Galactic City, Obi-Wan fought for his life and against the numbness of hopelessness. The numbness retreated briefly when he heard a clone report, "The area is secure, Lord Vader." For the first time since Obi-Wan had realized the betrayal of the Chancellor and Anakin, the chains of discipline around his anger began to groan in protest.  
With a fresh surge of energy, Obi-Wan vaulted over the advancing clones and went on the attack, rather than the passive defense that had gotten the rest of the Jedi Order killed.  
He fought with vigor and an aggression he did not know he has possessed, and a tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind that he was falling prey to the dark side.  
Exactly like Anakin.  
At once the anger drained out of him. His lapse in concentration allowed a trooper to land a shot, but the bolt merely grazed his arm rather than lodging into his chest. Obi-Wan struggled to return to the light, the place he had always resided in battle, and it was more difficult than it had been before. The Force seemed dormant, and Obi-Wan extended himself into it frantically, waiting anxiously for the connection.

And then the Force began to scream.  
Obi-Wan dropped his lightsaber and screamed with it, his palms pressed against his ears, but it did not block out the sound or the emotion behind it. The anguish was the equivalent of the anguish of every living being in existence, and it was excruciating.  
The last Jedi on Coruscant fell to his knees, his throat scratched raw from yelling, and before the blackness took him, he saw a young man embracing the still form of his only love, his tear-streaked face raised to the heavens, shattered glass and droplets of blood strewn around him like precious gems, the waves of agony rising and falling from his heart.  
Then there was silence.


	9. Bittersweet Grace

**Chapter Five  
**_**Bittersweet Grace**_

Multicolored stars wheeled like a kaleidoscope inside Anakin's eyelids, and he blinked furiously to clear his blurred vision. His ears felt like they had been stuffed with cloth, and something warm trickled down the side of his forehead. He swiped at it with his gloved fingertips and brought it before his still-hazy eyes. The black leather glistened in the wan daylight, and the unmistakable  
sickly-sweet odor of blood wafted to his nostrils. He coughed sharply through a burning throat – not because of the aroma – but because the air was thick with dust and smoke.  
Anakin desperately tried to collect his scattered thoughts, blown about like dry leaves in the wind, mentally retracing the steps that had led to this moment. He remembered looking past the blue-white glare of his lightsaber and into the bearded face of his former Master, the roar of his anger drowning out the frail entreaty of his sorrow.  
He remembered the chill that had invaded his bones when his reason for being aimed at blaster at him, her large dark eyes swimming with tears born of sadness and horror.  
His stomach clenched at the thought of how he had almost given in to the dark pull of fury and lashed out at her. His angel – the woman for whom his heart continued to beat, the air filling his lungs,  
the mother of his children –  
_Padmé!_

He remembered it all.  
The gunship cutting through the fog, the burnt ellipse in Padmé's shoulder, and…and…  
With a jolt, Anakin blinked away the last traces of dust and salt water clinging to his lashes and looked down. She was lying against him, her head pillowed on his broad shoulder, his left arm still locked securely around her slender frame. Her perfect face was powdered with fine grey dust, frosting her glossy brown curls like snow, but her expression was peaceful. Anakin was reminded vividly of an old tale his mother used to weave by his bedside, in what seemed like another lifetime, about a beautiful lady asleep in the snow, waiting to be awoken by one who was worthy…  
He tenderly brushed the powder from Padmé's delicate features, but his brows were drawn together in intense concentration, creating deep furrows on his forehead. Try as he might, Anakin could not recall what had happened after his wife had been hurt. His gaze flitted to the swell of her belly, and he quickly laid a palm against the bulge, frightened for their twins. Something traumatic had occurred – that much was certain. He would survey the damage to the city after he was convinced that his family was safe. Anakin reached into the Force to search out the undeveloped minds of his children…There was nothing.

Confused, he tried again, stifling his growing worry for his loved ones, extending his consciousness outward, and waiting for the Force to answer.  
But there was only a vast vacuum of emptiness.  
The Force was…gone.  
Anakin's lips parted in dismay, staring blankly at his own hand, resting upon the greatest treasure he had ever received. _What happened?  
_He stumbled to his feet, cradling Padmé in his arms, and wandered blindly through the clouds of smoke and fog until he recognized the curved, plush divan that resided in their apartment. The piece of furniture seemed relatively untouched, yet Anakin glanced around warily, listening for falling debris in a potentially unstable building. He could not sense any danger, and it made him feel thoroughly disconcerted – because he could not sense _anything_.  
Anakin placed Padmé gently on the cushions, wondering anxiously if he should even risk leaving her side when he was not aware of their surroundings, or what had happened to their home.  
If he could just remember…  
He needed to have a look around. Maybe it would spark in his mind and his memory would surface. He bent down and pressed a soft kiss on Padmé's cheek, relieved when he felt warmth emanating from her skin. "I'll be back," he murmured, and turned to face the billowing dust before he allowed his concern to change his mind.

Anakin strode in the general direction of the veranda, shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear his blocked ears. The silence around and inside him was more disturbing than anything he had experienced in his life. He had always been connected to the Force, and his mother had told him before he had left her at nine years of age the true nature of his birth. To be separated from the one thing that had always been a constant for him – he felt as if he had been stripped of all his senses at once.  
The air changed subtly, and Anakin realized that he had walked back onto the veranda.  
The dust particles floated amidst the dense fog that persistently covered the capital, and the only thing he could see was his boots treading over cracked stone and rubble.  
Shards of glass and metal crunched with every step, until Anakin's toe caught on something large. The abrupt pause caused his already off-kilter equilibrium to strain, and he fought to remain upright, flailing his arms to regain his balance.  
He peered down and saw an arm, covered in white body armor. His gaze followed the appendage to the torso, and then the inert body of the clone commander came into view. The one who had called him "Lord Vader." Anakin's jaw muscles bunched as he gritted his teeth, swallowing his anger as he knelt down to check the trooper's vitals. He pulled off the clone's helmet – and jerked backwards with a harsh gasp, the helmet clattering into the grey mists sluicing over the wreckage.

The commander's face, a face Anakin had seen hundreds of times, was frozen in death. But how he had died, the young man could not say. He had not seen it before – and death had been his steady companion for over three years of war.  
Caked rivulets of blood poured from the clone's nose and ears, and dust was beginning to settle on his glazed eyes as they were forever held wide open in an expression of utter agony.  
Anakin staggered to his feet, overcome by horror as the image triggered in his brain, but he refused to face it. It was not possible. His heel met a white-clad leg, and he threw off this clone trooper's helmet as well. Same face, same expression.  
His breath quickened, panic fluttering his heartbeat madly. He found another clone, and another, and another – until he knew that the whole contingent that had disembarked the gunship was lying dead on the veranda. In a daze, Anakin felt his feet carry him to the crumbling edge of the veranda, and through the heavy smoke, dust, and fog…  
He saw his nightmare made real.

Coruscant was in ruins. The elegant shimmering towers were all splintered like broken crystal. Twisted pieces of shrapnel from crashed speeders were lodged into the skeletal framework of destroyed buildings. Bright orange flames flowed like oil from one spire to another, illuminating the mists with a strange topaz glow.  
It surged through him like tongues of white-hot lightning.  
As he had clung to Padmé in his trembling embrace, the muffled echoes of blasterfire and the clone commander's inquiry had vanished into nothingness. He felt his soul being ripped to shreds by the opposing powers tugging him in all directions, vying for control of the one born of the Force – when all he wanted was to spend the rest of his life with Padmé and help her raise their children.  
He wanted to live with _hope._

It was his deepest wish, laid bare in his heart of hearts – buried under discipline, a yearning for freedom, and the desire for the power required to win that freedom.  
That wish had resided under the guise of tenacity and arrogance for so long, Anakin had despaired of ever reviving it.  
The first night he had held his new bride in his arms, that little flare had bloomed infinitesimally. Anakin never wanted be anywhere else but near her, because she made him feel less like the weapon the Council was forging through the fires of the Clone Wars, and more like a man. She made him believe that he was still human.  
Her presence was his addiction – the drug that kept him from losing his mind. He would sink into her and never want to surface – to be so close to her that he could not tell where she ended and he began. She was his torch, lighting the way through the bloodshed and the seemingly endless battles. She was his safe harbor from the gales that battered his world-weary spirit. He knew she would fear for him if he would confess to her how much he needed her. But Anakin could sense that she understood, and she did not falter nor bend under the weight of his need.  
And he loved her all the more.

It became more difficult to leave after each all-too-brief interlude. The unity that Anakin had desired for them grew like flowering vines the longer they spent in each other's company, and Padmé – his fierce, steadfast angel – became increasingly distressed. She hid it very well – even from her Jedi husband – but he saw it, fraying the edges of her regal dignity. Every time they parted, she donned that brave expression, smiling sweetly…and in her eyes he witnessed unfathomable grief. Within the Force it was worse.  
It killed him to see her in such pain.  
She never begged him to stay – not in words – and he pretended not to glimpse her pain through the façade, allowing her to nourish him with tender embraces and the taste of her kisses. Survival was the only option after five months wandering in the wasteland of their separation. While he was away from her, he knew that he was changing, shape-shifting into a cold-blooded warrior, a lump of stone encased in his ribcage. He sensed the dark side infecting his soul. It slithered around the smoky-grey caverns of his heart, seeking to snuff out the undiluted shard of light that Padmé had so diligently nurtured with her soft, strong hands and gentle yet penetrating eyes.

The darkness nearly sank its poisonous fangs into it as Anakin fought with Dooku aboard the _Invisible Hand_. The young Jedi tried frantically to hold the darkness at bay, but he could not split his attention between shielding his heart and dueling a Sith Lord – not if he wanted to stay alive. Dooku sensed his fear and provoked him. _"I sense great fear in you, young Skywalker. You have hate, you have anger…but you don't use them."  
_He had not succumbed to the Chancellor's command to kill Dooku.  
Anakin had rashly cut down the beaten Sith as a means to pacify the black shadows threatening the spark inside him.  
In the aftermath of his harrowing return to Coruscant, he made a silent vow while an orbital shuttle carried the Chancellor, Obi-Wan, and himself to the Senatorial Offices: he would never be parted from his wife again. To rip himself from her and not see her, speak to her, for weeks…months…and for what? To participate in a war that seemed endless?  
To not even _think_ of her for fear that his fellow Jedi would sense their relationship?  
Never again.

Anakin decided that he did not care anymore. He did not care if the Council discovered them, if they cast him out of the Order. They would only be giving him an escape from the strictures that girded him like iron bands around his chest. When he had glanced over and seen Padmé waiting for him within the shadows of the columned hall, relief and joy glistening in her eyes – the image cemented his oath. Her incredibly wonderful news of a child fanned the spark into a bright flame, and he experienced the most profound feeling of…release.  
His wish would soon become a reality. In a few short weeks his beautiful Padmé would deliver their child, and he would be free. It was an impossibility to return to the rules and regulations of the Jedi after the arrival of their baby. And while he could no longer be a Jedi, the Force and all he had learned would remain a part of him, and he would have fulfilled his dream of becoming the great defender of peace and justice that his mother had always wanted him to be. He had fallen asleep easily that night, listening to Padmé's soft, even breathing, her warm body pressed to his, and mused that he would rest well from now on.

When the nightmare startled him awake, shivering and sweating – he hated the Force.  
He _hated_ it.  
The Force controlled his entire life – adding, subtracting, rearranging pieces at will.  
He refused to let it take anything away from him again. If he truly _was_ the Chosen One, then _he_ was the one with the power to control the fate of his loved ones, the galaxy, even the Force itself.  
He could control his own fate.  
Palpatine had provided him with the means to an end. The ways of the Jedi were not giving Anakin he answers he wanted – indeed, the wisest among the Order had quoted platitudes.  
"_Death is a natural part of life," "attachment leads to jealousy," _and _"train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose."_ It was strange, really, how Yoda's words resonated within Anakin even now. His empty gaze stared out over the city, the wreckage reflecting the damage to his own soul.  
He knew that he did this.

The universe had been spiraling ferociously, and as he cradled his hopes for the future in his arms, he realized that he was utterly powerless. The rawness of that insight chafed Anakin like salt on an open wound. And the hatred he carried for the Force and the injustice of being unable to alter the path he had taken was unleashed upon the galaxy.  
He wanted the Force and all it touched to suffer. To feel all that he felt – all his pain, his grief, his anger, and his despair. He poured out every last drop of all he had been subjected to and how it had made him feel – from what had occurred mere seconds before, to the day when Shmi Skywalker had gently explained to her small son that they were slaves.  
He flooded the Force with the toxin of those feelings, which he had kept bottled up in the depths of his being, hidden from his Master and his wife. He had emptied himself of…everything, and it was remarkable. Anakin may have killed all connections to the Force for every being in the universe, including himself, but he was viewing the world with a clarity he had never before possessed. Completely cut off from the conflicting extremes of dark and light, Anakin was able to see the consequences of his actions with unfettered eyes.  
He did not like what he saw.

He squeezed his eyes shut in a vain effort to block out the images his self-disgust invoked, but they continued to revolve past his pupils. The fear in his beloved Padmé's eyes.  
The sorrow and grim determination that Obi-Wan leaked into the Force. The screams of the Separatists in the communications bunker on Mustafar. The bodies of the Younglings lying on the Temple floor. The devastation of the Tusken camp on Tatooine.  
_I am a monster._

Anakin retched and doubled over, eyes watering as he fought to contain the revulsion that churned in his stomach. Inhaling heavily, black spots danced before his eyes as he gazed into the hazy depths of the ruined city. Remorse twisted in his gut like a knife, and in the space of a dozen heartbeats, he considered plummeting into the mists. Death was a small price to pay compared to all the lives he had taken – and if his attack on the Force had harmed the twins in any way he would never forgive himself. A being that harms its own flesh and blood does not deserve to live. He stepped to the crumbling edge, the toes of his boots knocking pebbles into the fog – and he suddenly glimpsed the edge of a sand-colored tunic, hanging on the far corner of the veranda. Sections of the stone were falling away, and the inert form of Obi-Wan Kenobi was slipping ever closer to oblivion.  
Anakin reacted instinctively; he raced precariously along the edge, hearing the stone crack beneath him, and grabbed Obi-Wan's arm, yanking the Jedi Master to the relative safety near the building. Anakin rolled his old friend onto his back, and another painful stab of regret struck his shredded heart.

Obi-Wan's beard was caked with blood and dust. The telltale traces of crimson trickled from his nose and ears, and although his eyes were closed, they were squeezed tight in an expression of barely-suppressed agony. "Master," Anakin breathed feebly, his eyes prickling with hot tears, "I'm…I'm so sorry." The words were inadequate, and Obi-Wan could not hear them, but Anakin had to say them. He pressed two flesh fingers against the Jedi Master's throat, and his shoulders slumped in relief when he felt the weak pulse.  
An abrupt noise, like a collision of rock and metal, erupted behind him, and Anakin's head snapped around, calling worriedly, "Padmé?" He clambered to his feet, gaze searching the clouds hovering about him, but he could not find the right direction back to his wife.  
A quiet moan floated among the fog, and Anakin slowly glanced sideways as Obi-Wan's bleary blue-grey eyes opened.

------------

The silence was blissful.  
In the aftermath of the cataclysmic explosion in the Force, Obi-Wan's battered psyche drifted on soothing waves of quiet. But it was getting harder to breathe. His lungs were clogged with the scent of smoke and blood, and Obi-Wan struggled to awaken. His body's survival instincts were shrieking for him to get up, but his mind felt fractured, disconnected thoughts and images whirling about in fierce eddies. Attempting to bring some order to the storm, Obi-Wan began to focus on his last coherent memory.  
That was when the ringing started.  
His brain started vibrating painfully, and his skull ached as if it had been hammered repeatedly with a Gammorean mallet. A moan escaped his dry mouth, and Obi-Wan slowly opened grimy, blurred eyes, still laboring to sort out his fragmented thoughts.

A dark silhouette swam into view, fog and dust flowing around the outline like water.  
Tall and broad-shouldered, the man's robe was caked with grey powder; his hair and skin sprinkled with the same pallid color, making him nearly indistinguishable from the dense clouds. The man was turned half-away from Obi-Wan's slanted view, his face etching a sharp profile against the colorless backdrop. Obi-Wan's head throbbed unexpectedly, and he groaned again, weakly lifting a hand to his forehead to check for an injury. The man slowly turned to look at him – and like a current released from a dam, the Jedi Master's mind snapped together in complete lucidity.  
Casting aside all notions of pain, Obi-Wan sprang to his feet, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. The mists disguised everything around them, but his gaze remained fixed on the form of his adversary. Anakin simply rotated to fully face him, drops of blood traveling down his temple, the whites of his eyes turned red from burst vessels and the debris floating in the air. He was unarmed, but any wielder of the Force is never without a weapon. Obi-Wan's hand immediately dropped to his belt, but his lightsaber was not present. He began searching the partially obscured foreground for the missing weapon, while keeping a wary eye on Anakin.

The young man continued to meet his stare, splatters of dust on his expressionless features – a chill slid down Obi-Wan's spine as he studied his old friend's eyes. There was an emotion in those reddened orbs that the Jedi Master had not expected to see. Before he could puzzle out the possible meanings of that emotion revealed in Anakin's eyes, he caught a dull gleam of silver to the far right. The smooth cylinder of his lightsaber lay amid the rubble a few meters away. Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed at Anakin, debating whether or not he should react. His palm extended almost subconsciously toward the lightsaber, and Obi-Wan swiftly called upon the Force to summon it into his hand.  
When nothing happened, Obi-Wan shifted his gaze wholly on the inert object and concentrated. The cylinder did not so much as shudder with the effort. Deeply confused and a little worried,  
Obi-Wan's eyes flicked back to Anakin, who seemed as immobile as a statue. The Jedi Master tried to send a tendril of Force energy towards the young man to receive some sense – any sense –  
of what was happening.  
The silence that greeted him suffused Obi-Wan with dread.

Anakin's blank expression twitched imperceptibly, and Obi-Wan stared intently at him as the final image burned into his mind before a curtain of darkness fell shimmered into focus, superimposed over his current view of his former apprentice. Kneeling on the cracked stone, cradling the motionless body of his wife, face upturned as he screamed in anguish.  
The unsettling emotion in Anakin's gaze intensified, and he looked away, as he always did when he was expecting a harsh reprimand from his Master.  
Obi-Wan did not disappoint. His dust-covered face full of troubled apprehension, he asked roughly, "What have you done?"  
Anakin stayed mute, avoiding Obi-Wan's piercing gaze. The Jedi's eyes darted back to his lightsaber, longing for its comforting weight against his palm. He felt vulnerable; even though Anakin was unarmed, he must have done something to block Obi-Wan from using the Force in order to gain further advantage over his old Master. Obi-Wan lifted a boot and timidly edged sideways, in the general direction of his lightsaber. He demanded again, more vehemently, "What have you done?"

Anakin's eyes flew up to meet Obi-Wan's, and he replied in a dry, brittle voice, "I won't fight anymore. I can't touch the Force, either."  
Obi-Wan scoffed, "Why should I believe you?" He took another hesitant step toward the silver cylinder, while pinning the younger man with a fierce stare, his grey-blue eyes darkening  
like a gathering storm.  
"Look around you, Obi-Wan!" Anakin retorted bitingly, an arm sweeping wide to gesture at the destruction, "Do you have any idea what happened? Do you think you would still be alive if it hadn't happened?" His eyes widened, and appeared to glaze over as his tone changed abruptly from anger to guilt. "How can _anything_ still be alive after – after what I did," he spoke quietly, almost to himself. "I thought…that I killed it. For everyone – and for me. That was what I wanted…but…" he trailed off, lost in his thoughts.  
Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow as foreboding skittered across his skin, raising the tiny hairs on his arms. Anakin was not making any sense at all, and the Jedi Master did not think that it was a ploy. Regardless, he had no reason to coddle a murderer, and he could not waste time while Anakin struggled to collect himself. An enemy thrown off-balance was far easier to defeat.

"Killed what?" Obi-Wan said firmly, each syllable as hard as if it had been chiseled in stone. "What are you talking about?"  
The young man's scarlet-stained eyes slowly focused on Obi-Wan, and the Jedi finally named the emotion lingering there.  
It was remorse.  
"I thought that I killed the Force."  
The absolute absurdity of that statement caused Obi-Wan to pause in mid-step and stare at his former Padawan in incredulity. "That's impossible. The Force exists through life, and life, in turn, makes it grow." It was one of the first lessons a Youngling learned at the Temple. "You know this, Anakin."  
Anakin's pupils were dilated; like carved obsidian, reflecting the desolation of the soul as he asked hoarsely, "Then how do you explain this? How did I –" he swallowed hard, and squared his chin. "How did I do this?"  
Obi-Wan studied him critically, not entirely certain to what Anakin was referring.  
He diverted his attention to the debris and hunks of rock and metal surrounding them. Shock began to filter through his bloodstream as the fog and smoke became patchy, and images of crashed transports, shattered windows, and the overall destruction rippling outwards from their position became visible through the bleak mists.  
And he looked down when his foot made contact with a clone trooper's helmet. The body was lying a few feet away…  
Anakin watched his old friend examine the dead clone, and saw his face contort with surprise and horror, and he lowered his head shamefully.

Obi-Wan tore his gaze away from the clone's face and looked at the man whom he once thought of as a brother. "_You_ did this?" he asked hesitantly. He was not certain that he wanted an answer.  
And he saw the hilt of his lightsaber, glittering dully under the dust near the discarded helmet.  
"I – wanted it to stop." Anakin said hollowly, head bowed, his tousled hair crusted with grey powder. "Everything that's happened is wrong. _I'm _wrong." As he spoke, Obi-Wan bent cautiously, his eyes trained on Anakin, and grasped the handle of his lightsaber. "I only wanted to save her. Is that wrong? Is that why we're not supposed to love?"  
The smooth metal against his palm filled Obi-Wan with confidence, and he straightened, his stare resting on Anakin's bowed head as he held the weapon behind his thigh. "Love is not the problem, Anakin. It is the dangers of attachment and possession that are the problem. Do you think Padmé would agree with you that her life is worth more than the Jedi Order?"  
He sighed heavily, an expulsion of dwelling on the past and the what-ifs circling him like a pack of kath hounds. He would not be tormented by visions of what might have been any longer. Anakin had made his choice, and there was no going back. And if the Force did return to him, he would be more of a danger than ever. Obi-Wan silently hoped that Padmé and the child had not been harmed, and that one day, they may be able to forgive him.

But he had to question his motives.  
Was he prepared to deliver justice on a man who, though he had destroyed hundreds of lives, seemed sincerely repentant? Is that not the reason Obi-Wan had held back during their duel – in hopes that somehow the smallest flicker of light would rekindle in Anakin and release him from the dark side?  
"_The boy you trained, gone he is. Consumed by Darth Vader."  
_Obi-Wan saw the truth in Yoda's words before they had parted on their respective missions, but now that truth was colored in shades of grey, like the fog that persistently lingered.  
Vader had not consumed Anakin. They were at war with one another within the same shell, and while they were not tied to the Force, the darkness was unable to cloud Anakin's mind.  
Obi-Wan wanted to trust in that hope…but without the Force to guide him, he was unsure of the path that he was to take. The flame of the Jedi was extinguished from the galaxy – his friends, his teachers, his family – and he realized that his motivation was vengeance.  
The Sith are the nemesis of the Jedi, and it has been that way for millennia.  
He had the opportunity to guarantee that this generation of Sith would not become a threat to the new Jedi that would spring from the ashes of the Temple.

Before he was aware of it, Obi-Wan felt the thrum of an activated lightsaber in his hand, and the blue-white bar of energy shone like a beacon in the colorless atmosphere. Anakin's gaze rose, and he looked at his old Master with saddened acceptance. "I knew that you came here to kill me. I knew that the moment I realized you were still alive." He started to walk forward, and Obi-Wan brought his lightsaber to bear defensively, anticipating an attack.  
Anakin halted, the indigo glow lighting his eyes, and the corner of his mouth barely lifted. "I told you – I won't fight anymore." He spread his arms wide, palms upward in surrender.  
"I know that I deserve to die."

The air chilled, and the wind stirred the dust that had settled as the distant rumble of thunder rattled the loose stones on the veranda. Obi-Wan could do nothing but watch as Anakin came before him and knelt, yielding to the Jedi Master. The irony was not lost on Anakin - and as cold drops of rain began to spatter the dirt on his skin, he reflected on that black night, when he had sworn allegiance to Darth Sidious. He had knelt before him as well, begging for Padmé's life.  
Now he knelt before the last Jedi, offering his own life in penance for his crimes.  
Droplets landed on the bright blade, hissing and smoking. Obi-Wan's hair was plastered to his forehead, no longer a nondescript grey but the sandy-blonde that Anakin remembered. His friend's expression was unreadable, and as hard as durasteel plating.  
The blade twitched slightly, and Anakin whispered, keeping his gaze locked on Obi-Wan's, "I'm sorry."  
He waited for the blow the strike, understanding that he may never see Padmé again, or witness the birth of their twins, yet knowing that he must atone for his actions.  
But Obi-Wan still hesitated, hovering over him, rainwater flowing from his neatly trimmed beard.  
A shadow moved within the dwindling mists, and Anakin's eyes shifted to follow.  
Obi-Wan, alert to the slightest change in the young man's countenance, noticed the motion and turned aside.

As if she had coalesced from the rain, Padmé stood before them, the water flowing through her dark hair and the folds of her blue-grey gown. Her eyes were as fathomless as the sea, and the rain swept across her silken skin, shimmering like the mountain lakes of Naboo.  
Anakin's stare latched onto her as if she were an anchor in the fiercest storm – but he felt quivers of dread along his spine. The vision he had received in hyperspace was playing out before him, and he did not think that he would survive if he had to endure her rejection of him again. He tentatively came to his feet, and Obi-Wan glanced sharply at him, surprised. They were standing only a few feet apart – these brothers who had been unbeatable, and at one time would have gladly laid down their lives for one another.  
The rain was cleansing their bodies of the dust; the smell of smoke and death was washed away by the clean scent.  
Anakin's golden locks clung wetly to his skull, and his eyes were full of rain, the irises glistening a pale blue as the red stain evaporated like the fog. Lightning flashed overhead, throwing Padmé's delicate features into sharp relief as she watched him, her wounded arm resting on the curve of her stomach.

Shame pierced his core, leaving a sour taste in his mouth as Anakin met his wife's clear gaze. He forced himself to hold her stare, even though he felt naked and distraught, exposed to the radiance contained within Padmé's velvety orbs. He had always been an open book to her; she had a gift for seeing others as they truly are – an admirable quality for a politician.  
And he had no reason or desire to hide his feelings from the woman he loved – he spent too much of his life keeping to the shadows. He abandoned his emotional shields whenever they were alone together in an effort to keep the taint of secrecy from the purity of their love.  
Until recently.  
Humiliation stung his eyelids as he tried to glimpse her emotions in her face…but it was as blank as a porcelain mask. Anakin had often used the Force to brush against Padmé's signature to interpret her mood, but now that option was closed to him. He would never admit that she knew him better than he knew her – his pride was injured enough by the Jedi Council and Obi-Wan. She had honed her unique talent through years of public service, and like a finely-tuned instrument, Padmé read into Anakin's every gesture, each subtle movement, and the shifting jewel tones in his eyes.

He relied on the Force for everything, even something as trivial as picking up on his wife's feelings, when he should have devoted himself to observing her with his more commonplace perceptions.  
But their clandestine meetings became fewer and far between, and Anakin was so ravenous for her love and attention that he focused only on what she did for _him_ – and not on the amazing, beautiful person that had stolen his heart and never released it.  
And now she stood before him, her dark eyes nebulous as shards of quartz, the rain-soaked fabric of her gown molding to the swell of their children.

He wanted to tell her that he was sorry, that the guilt was eating him alive. He wanted to say that he loved her more than anything, and that he would do whatever she asked. He wanted to beg for forgiveness, because hers was the only one that really mattered.  
But he could not move. The cool, glittering sheets of water kept him rooted to the ground, as did his terror of what would happen if he approached her. All he was capable of was gazing deeply into her endless eyes and losing himself once more in their depths, hoping fervently that she would be able to see what he did not have the courage to voice.

Padmé's face shimmered like sun-drenched ripples on a pond, and she looked at him with the expression that Anakin carried in his heart wherever he went: her skin was luminous as if lit from inside, her lips curved gently in a contented smile, and her eyes sparkled with a love that would transcend time and space. And she opened her arms.  
He had committed unspeakable atrocities.  
He had betrayed his comrades, his teachers.  
He had pledged himself to the enemy.  
He had threatened to destroy everything he wanted to protect.  
She forgave him. She still loved him.

The last weak thread of Anakin's restraint snapped as his vision was transformed into a watercolor wash of blue and grey, his angel welcoming him back to the world he thought he would be parted from forever. A dry sob tore itself from his throat as he staggered towards her, and the vastness of the feelings and memories drowning his mind drove him to his knees. He crumpled on the broken stone, curled in a tight ball, trembling violently.  
Padmé rushed forward and knelt beside him, gathering him in her arms.  
Anakin's shoulders heaved with each wrenching sob, and he clung to her, tucking his long body to fit in her embrace. He pushed his face into her collarbone, the dark curtain of her hair falling across him as she held him close. Tears for the dead, the betrayed, the lost, and the forgiven spilled without cease, the saltiness mingling with the sweet rainwater cascading from the sky.

Obi-Wan glanced aside, a forgotten witness to an intimate reconciliation, yet he found his gaze drawn irresistibly back to the huddled couple, twined together in the rain. Anakin's sobs swelled into a lump in Obi-Wan's throat, and he felt a trickle of warmth seep from his eyes as Padmé silently consoled her husband, a hand softly stroking his wet hair. Obi-Wan became aware that a shaft of blue light was still clutched in his hand, the familiar hum obscured by the cadence of the storm.  
He stared at the blade until it left a streak of white on his vision, and the Jedi Master understood that the universe had once again taken an unexpected turn.  
And he made his decision.  
He looked over at the man he had been prepared to kill…and saw a broken-hearted young man, devastated by his sins and weeping in gratitude for the grace bestowed upon him by the dark-haired angel cradling him in her arms.  
His thumb slid sideways, and the lightsaber was extinguished, swallowed into the hilt.

The only sound was the steady rhythm of the rain.


	10. Nothing is Whole, Nothing is Broken

**Chapter Six**

_**Nothing is Whole, Nothing is Broken**_

Padmé listened as her husband's grief-stricken sobs slowly dissolved into the soft pattern of rainfall, offering mute comfort through the palm that soothingly stroked his head, and her body, which he clung to with desperate strength. She stifled a wince as his fingers dug painfully into her waist, but her hand never paused from its tender consolation. She felt the hot tears that scalded her skin, chilled by the water falling from a slate-colored sky. Anakin's shoulders heaved as each harsh cry left him breathless, and her heart bled for him. He folded his long limbs tightly in an effort to move closer, and the thick veil of her hair covered their faces. The rain left beads of icy moisture on her neck, and his breath warmed her throat as he buried his face into her collarbone.  
The minutes began to lengthen until it seemed like the young man cradled in her arms would weep for an eternity. She had never known that one person could hold so many tears. Padmé remembered her mother once telling her that the heart stores tears in a glass bottle, and when it feels sadness, or sometimes joy, the bottle spills over.  
The glass bottle in Anakin's heart must have emptied.  
His intense grasp on her gradually started to loosen, but she kept her slender arms coiled around his taut frame, patiently waiting for the rigidity to leave his muscles. The sobs were no longer ripped from him, but he trembled against her like a leaf in the wind, and she could hear his teeth chattering. She knew that it was not from the chill haunting the air.  
Padmé put aside her sore muscles, the shivers that skittered across her skin, the damp, heavy fabric weighing her down, and her worry for the tiny dreamers sleeping in her womb.  
Anakin needed her.

She threaded her fingers through the tangled, coppery locks and gently rubbed the sensitive skin on the back of his neck. It was a trick she had learned for calming the intensity that always smoldered in Anakin's turbulent cobalt orbs. And the rain washed her mind into the current of the past, recalling another time when a restless, angry young man sought solace from her.  
"_I…I killed them. I killed them all. They're dead – every single one of them. And not just the men…but the women, and the children, too. They're like animals, and I slaughtered them like animals! I hate them!"  
_"_To be angry is to be human."  
_"_I'm a Jedi. I know I'm better than this."  
_He had tried to hold it inside, to stem the flow of bitter tears flooding his blazing, furious eyes – while she had lowered herself beside him on the gritty floor of the Lars garage.  
Padmé had gently offered commiseration, though to this day she still did not know why. All she had known was that this larger-than-life, golden-haired, passionate enigma was treading a dangerous path, breaking every rule imposed upon him and following the whims of his heart. When that heart had led him to exact vengeance on the creatures that had tortured and killed his mother, the pacifist in Padmé cried for resolution. To see Anakin take responsibility for his deplorable actions, and transform through this trial into the great Jedi, the great man, that she and so many others knew he could become. But the other part of her – the part that lay beneath the cool, rational persona of former Queen and Senator of the Galactic Republic – the part that was simply Padmé Naberrie, felt sympathy and even…pity for this fiery Padawan, whose disquieting blue gaze dared her to approach…and yet begged for comfort at the same time.

When he had felt the tender brush of her hand, the walls of his fury collapsed as if made of sand, and she saw a grieving little boy who had lost the only _real _family that he had ever known. And the unspoken promise she had made to herself regarding his heart and hers turned to ash and was carried away by a warm breeze. She had listened to him weep on that sand-sprinkled floor until the twin suns reached their apex in a blistering blue-white sky. His gangly frame shuddered mightily as he sucked in a deep breath, and Padmé realized that he had not eaten since yesterday, before he had ventured out alone into the desert. The meal she had brought him earlier would surely have spoiled in the midday heat, and with the intent of getting him some food, she began to rise.  
Two large, callused hands seized her slim one with surprising vigor, and Anakin looked up at her with swollen, red-rimmed eyes, begging huskily, "Please don't leave me."  
Without bothering to consult her unruffled common sense, Padmé allowed him to pull her close, settling her in his lap, as one would hold a small child. She felt the lean, hard muscles of his arm as it curled around her, and angled her body so that her head came to rest against his shoulder. Her hands lay passively atop her legs, the creamy skin a sharp contrast to the bright cerulean fabric of her gown, and she heard Anakin swallow hard before hesitantly wrapping his fingers around them. She turned over a palm and gripped his hand firmly, and then placed the other over his tanned knuckles.

In retrospect, it seemed odd that he would have held her in such a way. To a curious onlooker it would have seemed that she had been the one seeking comfort. But when she had sensed a slight weight on the crown of her head and felt his chest rise and fall in a deep, slow breath, Padmé realized that Anakin did not require soothing words or conciliatory phrases.  
All that he wanted or needed was to be close to her.  
In the midst of that timeless moment, Padmé consented to the emotions that she had caged inside herself and envisioned her future with him. Anakin was young, hot-tempered, and defiant – but despite his flaws he was the most genuine individual she had ever met. He had offered himself to her freely, ready to sacrifice his dreams in order to create new ones with her. Padmé would have to be hewn from stone to deny the attraction in that. Her imagination indulged in the fantasy of sharing her life with Anakin – of starting a family, growing old together, and putting aside the duties heaped upon her in the Senate to achieve the wish that she had forgotten while attending to the problems of the galaxy.  
"_We would be living a lie."  
_The calm, reasoning words she had uttered on that soul-searing night now flooded Padmé's veins with ice water, and the fantasy vanished in a swirling fog of doubt. As much as they both wanted to close their eyes to their responsibilities, she could not ignore the trust her people had placed in her as their Senator. It was her nature to look after the well-being of others, and Nubian children are taught from an early age that acts of service live on long after a person has departed this world. And the Jedi…they were a legend unto themselves.

She stared at the large, golden-brown hand framed by her slender fingers, and acknowledged the stinging pang in her heart as she once again reached the same conclusion she had that night. A relationship between a Jedi and a Senator was an impossibility. A dangerous secret.  
"_One we couldn't keep even if we wanted to."  
_Even if they somehow managed to keep it a secret - as Anakin had declared so vehemently that they could – it would eventually be uncovered, and what then? Anakin would be expelled from the Order, a disgrace and an example for other Jedi, and she would be relieved of her position as Senator, having to endure the silent anger of the people of Naboo for betraying their trust in an elected representative.  
But they would have each other.  
It was the only good she could see in that outcome, and it might even be worth the sacrifice. Gazing down at their clasped hands, Padmé wordlessly admitted that her heart would not escape this experience unscathed. The more she was with Anakin, the more she felt the holes in her soul being filled with him. Once she took that final step, the one that she kept smothered in wraps of obligation and altruism…there would be no going back.  
"_I couldn't do that."_

Shuffling footsteps approached from the courtyard, and Anakin tensed like a coiled spring, his hand slipping from hers as if burned, and they stood as one as Threepio entered.  
"Master Anakin, Miss Padmé," the droid said in a subdued tone, "Master Cliegg would like you to know that the burial will be taking place shortly."  
Anakin inhaled sharply, his breath hissing through his teeth, and Padmé answered softly, "Thank you, Threepio. Please tell Cliegg that we'll be up in a few minutes." Threepio waddled out of the garage, and Padmé's brown eyes swung to Anakin. He was braced like a soldier going into battle, his hands clenched in fists at his sides, his eyes fixed on the floor. Her heart ached for him, but she could not bear to sink any deeper into a relationship that would scar her forever. "I should find something suitable to wear," she said quietly. It was a flimsy excuse, but at least it would help her escape his compelling presence. She headed for the doorway, when his hoarse voice called her name.  
"Padmé – Milady," he corrected himself and raised his eyes to hers. Padmé was struck to the core at the haunting emptiness in his blue orbs. "Thank you for your condolences, but, what I did just now…was inappropriate. It won't happen again."  
His tone was firm and authoritative, and she might have let it go, if not for the single tear that trailed down his jaw as he spoke.

"Oh, Ani…"  
Heedless of the consequences, Padmé glided forward and enfolded Anakin in her arms.  
That she had surprised him was obvious, but soon he returned the embrace fiercely, pressing her into his chest. Warm breath wafted across her neck as he pushed his face into the curve of her shoulder, and the suffocating wraps around her feelings briefly parted long enough for Padmé to mouth into the dark folds of his tunic, _"I love you, Anakin."  
_And then she tucked it away. She would take that secret to the grave, no matter how much it hurt. She keenly felt the wiry muscles on his back, his tears moistening her collarbone – and lightning flashed overhead, thunder rumbling deep in her bones, and Padmé left the ruminations of the past.  
The Anakin now sheltered in the circle of her arms was older; the muscles under his thin robe were well-defined tools, rippling with power and decorated with battle scars. He was no longer a gangly Padawan watching her with infatuated eyes, but an accomplished Jedi Knight whose passion for her never wavered or diminished. He was still hot-tempered, and possessed a rebellious streak that continually astonished her, yet he was maturing – more than ready to accept the rank of Master and be a good father to the twins. If he had one flaw that could become his downfall – and perhaps it already had – it was his devotion.  
Devotion to Obi-Wan, to the Chancellor, and to her – Anakin always placed his personal loyalties above those to more encompassing institutions. Padmé knew that he considered his loyalty to her above all others, and as she pondered the possible repercussions of his way of thinking…the more she realized what had happened to her Ani.

She willed all of her love to the surface of her being, until it seemed to flow out of her pores and mingle with the rainwater. She concentrated on bestowing her steadfast affection into the pads of her fingers as they caressed Anakin's hair and neck. From deep within her soul, she pleaded to the Force, or whatever gods there may be, to help her rescue the man she loved from the darkness eating away at his heart.  
He sniffled quietly, the tremors of his limbs subsiding, and he slowly pulled his face away from her shoulder. Thick clumps of wet hair, darkened by the rain, dangled around his face, iridescent droplets gathering at the ends. He would not meet her eyes, so Padmé gently stroked his soaked tresses from his cheek, looping the longer strands around an ear, and laid a soft kiss just above his eyebrow, near his scar. Anakin shuddered like a newly-hatched avian, frightened and alone in a strange world, and tried to shrink away from her touch. Padmé leaned close and captured his face between her palms with tender firmness, and tilted his head until their noses brushed together. His gaze darted to hers briefly through lowered eyelashes – a flash of blue among the grey curtains of rain – but he could not summon the courage to hold her stare. Those magnificent chestnut orbs reflected her love for him with an intensity that outshone every star in the heavens…a love that he did not deserve.  
He could have killed her. And their twins.

Her blind faith in him caused equal parts adoration and self-loathing to swell inside his chest as the tiny spark that he had crushed with his own brutality flickered weakly through the roiling black shadows. Anakin felt the warm exhale of her breath on his lips, and her soft fingertips tightened just slightly on his cheekbones. And her voice floated above the storm's cadence, echoing in his ears as well as his heart.  
"I love you."  
Three words that filled the empty spaces of his tattered conscience and compelled him to lift his chin from the defeated position near his chest. Her eyes drew his like one searching for light in the darkness, and the overwhelming rush of emotion came spilling out of his mouth. "I'm so sorry…" The eyes that encompassed his universe overflowed with compassion, and Padmé pressed a finger over his lips, stopping any further words of apology before giving him the sweetest kiss.  
Anakin's lips met hers hesitantly, but soon he had wrapped his arms around her with ardent abandon, turning her insides on fire. He wanted to disappear in her, to only exist in a place where nothing could touch them and the harshness of the galaxy was simply a distant memory. Padmé knew what he was attempting – trying to soothe his tortured mind in a way that she suspected he had done many times before – but she also knew that complete healing could not come from her. Anakin had to make peace with himself. She pulled away gently, a fluttering sensation in her stomach as Anakin nuzzled against her palm, and she watched his face turn to stone as a heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

"We should get out of the rain," Obi-Wan murmured from above.  
Padmé looked up and over her shoulder at the Jedi Master, whose serious blue-grey eyes gazed at her with deep worry. She gave him the smallest of nods, and then returned her attention to her husband. Anakin stared hard at the towering form of his former Master, the muscles of his jaw bunching as he clenched his teeth, fear and anger and anxiety shaping his expression.  
Obi-Wan studied the young man, as one would watch a half-tamed animal – as unpredictable and dangerous. He understood that although Anakin was now blind to the Force – the reason for that still eluded him – the dark side was nonetheless tainting his subconscious, goading him to pursue the basest of instincts. On the heels of that flash of insight, Obi-Wan slowly raised his hand from Padmé's shoulder at let it fall to his side. In all of his time as a Jedi, he had never even heard of instances like their current situation. Obi-Wan had no prior experiences or knowledge to draw upon for guidance. It was like playing a game of dejarik in the dark – without being able to see any of the pieces, or the next logical move on the board. As his old friend's keen blue eyes shifted between regret and ferocity, Obi-Wan decided that as a Jedi, he had no standing in this chapter of the story, no wise advice to offer.  
He would follow Padmé's lead.

The tension emanating from Anakin was palpable; Padmé felt the skin under her fingers tighten and his eyes seemed to burn within their sockets as his entire body coiled like a spring. She expected the twins to react to their father's mood, as had been the case since he had reentered their lives only days before. When her womb remained silent, a hard knot of panic began to form in her stomach. The warm weight of Obi-Wan's hand withdrew from her shoulder, and once more the rest of the galaxy disappeared, and it was just her and Anakin. Every protective motherly instinct flared in Padmé's heart, urging her to discover what was wrong with her babies, yet she shoved them aside and focused on Anakin. Palpatine and his own fears had maliciously assaulted his trust in her, and she would have to convince him that _he_ was worthy of _her_ trust, before he trusted her.  
The psychology of that rationale was absurd, but nothing Anakin did could be defined as "normal", even by Jedi standards, and he had endured a scarred past.  
A tender smile curved her lips, and as Anakin's unseeing glare continued to burn through the veils of rain, Padmé lightly caressed his cheek with her fingertips.

Anakin fought desperately to remain in control as remnants of darkness threatened to drown him once more in their black depths. Padmé's kiss had been his lifeline; pulling him out of the swirling vortex his despair had created. He had seized it, relying on that physical symbol of their bond to restore his mind. The shadow of his old Master fell across her, and his palm lay softly on her shoulder – and the dark shards drove spikes of fury into his brain, choking off the skein connecting him to Padmé. Anakin gathered every shredded fiber of willpower he had left to keep from tumbling into the cold abyss, weaving a fragile shield around the tiny spark inside his chest.  
He was tired, so tired of fighting…of striving to be the best…so tired…  
Soft fingers brushed his cheek, and the disorienting haze altering his vision cleared, revealing a pair of warm brown eyes. Anakin blinked hesitantly, and Padmé's face swam into view, strands of her dark hair clinging to her skin in wet curls, a smile blossoming on her lips. Tears yet again burned the back of his throat, but he swallowed the sting as the trust illuminating his wife's gaze flooded his exhausted form with energy. The ghost of his lopsided grin flitted across his face, and his hand rose to press hers against his cheek.  
Padmé read the unspoken assurance in Anakin's eyes, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Obi-Wan looked on as the dark clouds retreated from the young man's features, satisfied that for the time being he posed no threat to the Senator and her unborn child.

The distant drone of engines rose above the soft rumble of the storm, and Obi-Wan glanced skyward, eyes darting back and forth nervously. "We must go inside," he reiterated sharply.  
Padmé heard the brittle apprehension in the Jedi's voice and in response tucked her legs under her body as she prepared to stand. The muscles in her calves trembled and struggled to support her weight, and aches traveled along her nerves as she gritted her teeth with the effort. Anakin's sapphire orbs watched her worriedly for a handful of seconds, and then he swiftly clambered to his feet and held out his hand to her. She tossed him a fleeting, grateful look, grasping his outstretched hand as her limbs shrieked in protest. Then her legs gave out. Padmé gasped in surprise, lurching toward her husband, her small hands fisting his robe in a vain attempt to remain upright. Anakin saw the fear splash across her face and swept her into his arms in one fluid motion. She winced painfully as her wounded shoulder burned from the movement, but thankfully her thick tresses covered the expression.  
Obi-Wan and Anakin met each others' eyes briefly, and without bothering to wait for any further comment, Anakin strode past the Jedi Master and into the shelter of the apartment. Obi-Wan gazed after his stiff-backed form for a heartbeat, nettles of uncertainty prickling his thoughts. Casting one last concerned glance at the rain-soaked sky, he hurried after his former apprentice…and farther down a path shrouded in mystery.

----------

Lightning flared its brilliant white into the darkened interior of the Chancellor's office, throwing objects and beings into sharp extremes of light and dark. The tendrils of electricity reflected on the mirrored visor of Commander Cody, summoned from Utapau. It glinted off of the barrels of the DC-15 blaster rifles held with casual ease by the squad of ARC troopers arrayed loosely behind him. It cast deep shadows within the crevasses and wrinkles on the face of Darth Sidious as he stared unseeingly out of the viewport transparisteel at the storm, contemplating the recent turn of events.  
The lights in the office flickered spastically as emergency generators fought to maintain power to the entire Senate complex. HoloNet newscasters all over Coruscant flooded the channels with reports of power outages, speeder wrecks, ship crashes, and all sorts of catastrophes on the planet and around the galaxy.  
It all stemmed from what Sidious had felt in the Force moments ago.

The chain connecting him to his new apprentice had stretched taut, as if the young one was straining to free himself from their pact. Sidious had nearly cackled with glee upon sensing the inferno steadily building inside the boy, begging for release. He had also felt the arrival of Master Kenobi, and the odd tingles of impending danger sparking between him and Vader. Sidious had ordered a squad of clones stationed near the Senatorial apartments to investigate a potential threat in the area – not directly, of course, but through a series of military channels. If Vader were to discover that his Master had commanded a group of clones to his wife's quarters with instructions to incapacitate her…the result would be less than ideal.  
Those troopers had never reported back.  
Instead, the Force became charged with energy, intensifying into a single focal point that was neither light nor dark, Jedi or Sith. And then it exploded.

The Dark Lord had never before experienced such an onslaught of raw power; it hit him like a shockwave, and he fought to preserve his center while trying to determine the source. Following the explosion was a surge of despair and rage, flavored by the Force signature of the Chosen One. The ripples spread in ever-widening circles, reaching into the lives of all creatures in the universe.  
Then Vader's essence winked out, as surely as one snuffs a candle.  
Sidious had sat forward in shock at the sudden silence, submerging in the Force to search for his apprentice – his greatest weapon. The Force felt muted and discolored, somehow violated by the outburst Vader had caused through sheer force of will.  
But there was no sign of the young Sith, not even the faintest flicker of life.  
There was only one explanation. Vader was dead.

A red tide of fury swelled in his chest, igniting dark fire in his bones.  
That vexing, self-righteous Jedi had destroyed his vision for the future! With a cry of rage, Sidious had unleashed torrents of blue-white lightning from his fingertips, shattering the holoreader on his desk and killing two of his guards. When the anger had abated, the Sith Lord had settled into his chair and observed the storm battering the capital, still seething at his loss, yet seeking a solution.  
If Vader truly _was_ gone, then Sidious would have to locate another Force Sensitive to serve him as student and enforcer within the Empire. Though none living could possibly compete with the power of the Chosen One, there must be…  
The thought trailed off without completion, for Sidious' mind had latched onto another conclusion. No other being would replace the Chosen One – he was unique. However, this one born of the Force had conveniently married and fathered a child.  
None living could compete with the power of the Chosen One…yet.

The Sith Lord's mouth twisted into a malicious smile. He would send Commander Cody and his troops to Five Hundred Republica to collect Senator Amidala. He had no doubt that she was still alive – Kenobi had certainly protected her with the intention of molding the child into the savior of the Jedi Order. While the time it would take for the child to mature and then proceed with training was extensive and would set his plans back by decades, Sidious could wait. Then this child would be a Sith to the core, and would not have the dogmatic indoctrination of the Jedi to cloud its judgment. And after the child was weaned, Sidious would be rid of Amidala's virtuous influence in the Senate once and for all.

Abruptly, his chair spun to face the clones. They straightened as one, and Sidious turned his yellow gaze on Cody. "Commander, take a squad of your best ARC troopers and bring me Senator Amidala alive and unharmed. She may be in the company of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi." He saw the commander jerk in surprise. "No, he is not dead, Commander. To compensate for your failure, you will bring him as well, in any state that makes him fit for containment. If he attempts to flee or kidnap the Senator, kill him."  
"Yes, My Lord," Cody saluted, and the troopers filed out of the office.  
Sidious rotated to view the rain as it fell in shimmering veils, thunder rumbling lowly, causing the building to thrum in concert with the storm. As he waited for the legacy of the Sith to come to fruition, the words of his old Master rose to echo above the rain, bringing with them an unsettling sensation that left Sidious to brood in darkness.  
"_Tell me what you regard as your greatest strength, so I will know best what to undermine you. Tell me of your greatest fear, so I will know what I must force you to face.  
Tell me what you cherish most, so I will know what to take from you.  
And tell me what you crave, so that I might deny you."_

_I will _not_ be denied, my Master,_ Sidious thought firmly, and choked off the memory.  
The Sith had been denied the universe for thousands of years and now, with the power coursing through the veins of the Chosen One's heir and Sidious' knowledge, he would create an Empire that would surpass the ancient Sith of old. Now that Vader was dead, along with his wavering allegiance to the dark side, there was no one left to stop him.

----------

Anakin's booted feet caused tiny swirls of grey dust to rise from the floor as he strode purposefully through the apartment, heading for the smaller salon on the far side. Padmé leaned into his broad chest, cradled in his arms with all the faith of a child as she surveyed their home with wide eyes. Cracks spider-webbed the surface of the walls and pillars, and a dense powder coated all of the furniture, clogging the decorative fountain in the center of the room. When Padmé had awoken earlier to the crash of thunder, the air had been thick with a colorless fog, and she had threaded her way through the residence purely by memory. Now she barely recognized it. Large chunks of molded duracrete littered the floor, power lines dangled from holes above them, sparking erratically, and a gilded statuette lay shattered in a corner, shards of the priceless work glimmering faintly as they passed. Padmé unconsciously placed a hand over her belly, jumping in startlement as a nearby wire snapped with electricity. The sense that this was no longer the safe haven she was accustomed to grew with every step. She wanted to leave – to be anywhere other than this room, this building, this planet.

Anakin felt her tense in his arms, and instinctively tightened his embrace in an effort to soothe her, while truthfully his own unease continued to rise as he sidestepped debris and other hazards. Everything that mattered to him was nestled against his chest, and it was obvious that this place was not acceptable to shelter them. But for now, it would do. The small salon was relatively untouched by the destruction; save for the thin fractures marring the transparisteel windows and a shattered viewport on the same side as the veranda, rain steadily soaking the blue carpeting. Anakin gently deposited Padmé on the sofa, the controlled atmosphere of the apartment chilling their wet skin. He dashed down the hall to an alcove for supplies, retrieving several blankets and an emergency med kit. Wheeling around the corner, he glimpsed his wife sitting on the sofa, hugging herself as she tried to stop shivering with cold, the hem of her dress dripping onto the floor. He was beside her before she could blink, wrapping her snugly in blankets and softly brushing the damp hair from her face.  
The shivering began to subside as the downy fabric slowly warmed her, and she sighed. Anakin was staring at her anxiously, biting his lower lip – a nervous habit he had never outgrown. Padmé smiled slightly and touched his cheek, concern rippling through her over how cool his skin felt. She started to remove one of her blankets to give him, but he stilled her hands with a tender, firm grip and shook his head. "I'll be fine," he murmured, his thumbs caressing her knuckles. There was a whisper of movement out of the corner of his eye, and Anakin's head whipped around as Obi-Wan entered the room, quickly combing his fingers through his sodden tresses. The three of them paused, watching each other as an awkward silence filled the salon. Anakin was the first to breach the stillness, vacating his place next to Padmé to hand Obi-Wan a blanket. The Jedi Master gazed at him for a minute or two – long enough for Anakin to debate the wisdom of his decision – and then took the proffered fabric with a quiet word of thanks.

Anakin made his way back to Padmé and knelt before her, setting the med kit on the low table with an apologetic expression. "Padmé…I need to treat your shoulder." She gave him a wordless nod, and reached around her back to undo the clasps of her dress. Anakin helped her peel the slick material away from her shoulder, and he inhaled sharply when the wound was fully exposed. A raw, red blister surrounded the entry point, darkening to a deep crimson in the center, and Anakin realized that the exit point would be just as bad.  
Padmé saw the agony on her husband's face and she glanced at Obi-Wan, who had dutifully turned around to avoid embarrassing her. Swallowing a fresh surge of anger, Anakin rummaged through the kit for a disinfectant, a roll of gauze, tape, and a kolto patch.  
There were painkillers available in the kit, but he did not dare give any of those to Padmé. The risk of harming the twins was too great, and both he and Padmé knew it.  
Anakin saturated a cotton pad with the disinfectant and held it poised over the wound, looking up at Padmé questioningly. She gritted her teeth, her hands balled into fists on her lap, and nodded curtly. He swiftly began to blot the torn skin, fighting to ignore Padmé's pain-filled expression. He had her turn sideways in order to disinfect the exit point as well, and he cringed as she whimpered, but he forced himself to finish. Padmé felt his long fingers on her jaw and she opened stinging eyes to see his worried face hovering near her own. "Are you all right?"

Her chin rose bravely, and she replied, "Just keep going."  
Anakin quickly and efficiently placed the kolto patches over the wound, their mild anesthetic calming the pain as he wrapped gauze around her shoulder, securing the bandage with a tight knot under her arm. "There," he said triumphantly, "all done. But we'll need to get you checked out at a MedCenter as soon as possible."  
"You, too," Padmé chastised, her fingers probing the skin around the gash on his temple.  
Anakin captured her hand with his own, slowly pulling it away from the injury. "I told you, I'm fine," he said tenderly, but with a hint of his typical stubbornness. Padmé rolled her eyes at him, but determined to let it go for now. He flashed her an impish grin, climbing to his feet and turning to face his former Master, who was offering them a semblance of privacy by keeping his back to them as he stared outside. Anakin immediately sobered as he noted the slump of the older man's shoulders, and stepped toward him with a solemn query, "Do you need the med kit, Obi-Wan?" There was the barest of pauses before Anakin said his name, for he had almost inserted the title by which he had called this man for over a decade. He doubted whether Obi-Wan would ever trust him again, but right now they had no choice but to rely on one another.

Obi-Wan remained motionless briefly, and then rotated on heel to face them, patting down his front and commenting mildly, "I seem to be in one piece." His slate-colored gaze touched Anakin's as he remarked, "I suppose I have you to thank for that."  
Anakin inclined his head in acquiescence and, in a desperate attempt at levity, said, in reference to their long-standing contest, "I think that makes it the tenth time."  
Obi-Wan merely gazed at him impassively.  
Anakin looked away uncomfortably, haunted by what he saw in his friend's eyes. It was like he was looking at the shell of Obi-Wan Kenobi – as if his soul had been bled out of him, turning him into a hollow, emotionless being. And Anakin understood that if anyone deserved the blame for robbing Obi-Wan of his vitality…it was him.  
Obi-Wan let Anakin's flippant remark pass by without comment, silently observing as the young man lowered his gaze shamefully, and then he glanced sideways to meet Padmé's deep brown orbs. "You are all right?" He asked in a strange mixture of statement and question.  
The Senator's eyes had regained their fiery spark as she answered, "I'm a lot tougher than I look, Master Kenobi."

He felt a corner of his mouth lift upward. "So I see." He casually moved closer, and Anakin's head popped up at the movement. "And…the child?" Obi-Wan asked hesitantly.  
Anakin's mouth opened to deliver a biting retort until Padmé silenced him as she murmured, "I – I don't know." Her palm stroked the swell, and her eyes flicked between the two men worriedly before resting on her husband. "They…haven't moved since I – since I was wounded." Anakin dashed over to her, dropping to his knees, and his hands encompassed her belly.  
Obi-Wan looked at Padmé with raised brows. "They…?"  
She met his astonished gaze without a trace of apprehension. "We're having twins, Obi-Wan." The Jedi Master blinked at her, dumbfounded, and Anakin's cerulean eyes left her middle to study her face, his heart in a quandary. Padmé exhaled wearily, squeezing his hand as she said, "He has a right to know. Besides, I thought you were tired of hiding." Then she raised her voice to address them both by inquiring, "And I believe I have a right to know what happened that caused all of this damage and may have hurt my babies." A hint of steel underlined her words as she spoke in a tone that demanded an explanation.

Anakin flinched just noticeably, his palms falling away from her belly as he and Obi-Wan shared a knowing glance. The younger man bowed his head, wishing that he could disappear into the depths of the planet. He had been nurturing the hope that his manipulation of the Force had not affected their twins, for Padmé had escaped the explosion unharmed.  
Their undeveloped talent must have overloaded, and he had fervently wished that perhaps their tiny minds had sensed the danger and somehow withdrawn in an attempt to shield themselves and their mother, for Anakin was fairly certain that Padmé had been spared from whatever had befallen the clones. He wanted to reach out and brush their signatures to reassure them…but he was cut off from their only means of communication.  
He could not bear to tell his angel what he had done.  
Nevertheless, he swallowed hard, taking her hands as he knelt before her, and forced himself to look into her beautiful face, full of concern and questions. "Padmé, I…" He broke off when Obi-Wan threw up a hand, his face tight with suspicion, listening down the hall toward the veranda.

"Ani, what –" Padmé was rendered mute as Anakin urgently pressed his finger over her lips, his head tilted sideways as he strained to hear what had alarmed Obi-Wan above the drone of the storm. A high-pitched whine filtered through the broken glass of the viewport and echoed down the hall as it circled Five Hundred Republica in standard recon procedure. Anakin was awash in confusion. _More_ clone troopers? He knew that another squad would eventually arrive to discover what had become of the first, but he had not been counting on them arriving so soon. What had Sidious sensed that would make him act so quickly?  
Obi-Wan had no compunctions over why the clones were here – the understanding of it froze his blood – but now the problem was getting Padmé off of Coruscant. He whirled the blanket from the shoulders and approached the couple, directly addressing Padmé. "Do you still have the skiff prepped for launch?"  
She blinked at him, taken aback at his knowledge of her near-flight to disaster, but replied, "Yes, it's on the Naboo Consulate landing pad near the Senatorial Offices, along with Threepio and Artoo."  
"Can we get there from here?"  
Obi-Wan was speaking with such insistence that Padmé grew frightened. In her experience, whenever a Jedi became worried, it usually meant that something awful was about to occur. She managed to answer, "Y-yes, there's an emergency airspeeder docked two floors below us, through a hidden passage in my wardrobe."  
It was then that Anakin jerked out of his reverie and leapt to his feet. "Where is it that you are planning to go, Obi-Wan?"  
The Jedi Master held his lightsaber at the ready and took Padmé's elbow in order to help her stand. "We have to get your wife off this planet."

She looked up at him with surprise and fear at the tense resolve in his tone. Anakin stepped in between them, demanding harshly, "Why? They're not after her. It's either you or me that they want. Sidious knows that I would never let anything happen to –"  
"Anakin, you're not using your head!" Obi-Wan retorted crossly. He grasped Anakin's arm and pulled him aside, muttering under his breath, "Why do you think they're here? They _are _here for Padmé! You are cut off from the Force, Anakin; do you realize what that means? It means that other Force users cannot sense you! Sidious thinks you are _dead!_ He has only one alternative to secure an apprentice that has the potential to be as powerful as you!"  
His former Padawan's piercing blue eyes glared at him as he pondered Obi-Wan's tirade, and then they widened in shocked realization. "He wouldn't do that," Anakin breathed, not quite believing what he knew was the truth.  
Obi-Wan gripped his shoulder hard. "You have been blinded for a long time, Anakin. Open your eyes." He left the younger man standing there in shock and returned to Padmé, who had managed to stand on her own and watched the exchange with a wary gaze. "Gather what you can, Padmé, and open the passage. Anakin and I will be there in one minute."  
Padmé hesitated for a split second, eyes flicking to her immobile husband before giving Obi-Wan a decisive nod and hurrying down the hall, a blanket fluttering to the floor in her wake.  
Anakin heard her retreating footsteps and slowly turned to see Obi-Wan waiting for him at the threshold of the hall. "We must go, Anakin." The Jedi's heart lurched over the lost expression on the young man's handsome features, yet he hardened his voice and said, "You must choose, Anakin. We are running out of time."

Although Obi-Wan had unwittingly repeated Sidious' words from that terrible night, Anakin silently admitted that it had certain symmetry. Life slowly leaked back into his azure orbs, igniting them with fierce determination as he announced, "Then let's go." He flew past Obi-Wan and sprinted down the hall toward the bedroom as the whine of the gunship's repulsor engines roared past the apartment again, rattling the windows. He skidded to a halt just outside the wardrobe where Padmé stood before a bare spot on the wall, a small satchel slung over her uninjured shoulder. Anakin wordlessly removed it from her arm and tossed it on his back, and Obi-Wan swept into the room. Padmé laid her right hand against the wall and an infrared light scanned her palm. With a barely audible beep, a small keypad slid out from a seemingly ornate indent on the wall, whereupon she typed in a six-number code. Almost instantaneously a panel on the wall slid aside, revealing a metallic passage lined with dim white lights, big enough for them to walk single file. Padmé went in first with Anakin on her heels, and Obi-Wan brought up the rear. As soon as they were all inside, the panel closed behind them, leaving the group in semi-darkness. The only sounds were their echoing footsteps and shallow breathing, and within a few minutes Padmé stopped and depressed a red button set into the track lighting. The door hissed as it opened, and the three companions found themselves in an undersized hangar. A canopied silver airspeeder sat in the center of the hangar, gleaming in the dim light.

By unspoken consensus, Anakin climbed into the pilot's chair as Obi-Wan scrambled into the back and Padmé belted herself into the navigator's seat. Anakin flipped switches and pressed buttons with rapid accuracy, and the anti-gravity boosters kicked in, lifting the speeder off of the floor. "How do we open the door?" he asked as he tightened his restraints. As a response, Padmé touched a sequence of buttons on the control panel and an opening just large enough for the speeder appeared before them, the wind blowing sheets of rain into the hangar.  
"This hangar opens on the opposite side of the building," Padmé explained seriously, "the landing pad is northeast of here – not more than ten minutes."  
"We'll make it in five." Anakin gunned the engines and the speeder knifed through the rain like a silver dagger, angling high and to the left to make use of the minimum camouflage afforded by the low clouds. Obi-Wan glanced out of the rear viewport and caught a glimpse of the gunship and its white-armored occupants as they disembarked on the ruined veranda.  
"Can they track this speeder?" he asked, returning his attention to the front – which he immediately regretted as Anakin nose-dived to avoid a building that suddenly loomed out of the clouds.  
Padmé seemed unaffected by her husband's reckless piloting as she replied calmly, "No, this speeder is a security measure, so it is not outfitted with a transponder. Captain Typho assured me that the lack of one would make it more difficult to catch."

Anakin smirked at her. "Very sneaky, Milady." Obi-Wan detected a note of pride in his voice, and then turned grave as he continued, "So, does anyone have a particular destination in mind _other_ than getting off of Coruscant?"  
Padmé shifted in her seat to look at Obi-Wan as she spoke, "Naboo is too obvious a choice, as is Tatooine."  
"I agree," Obi-Wan concurred.  
Anakin chimed in, "We need a place with a decent MedCenter so Padmé can get checked out." His voice fell as he added, "And so we can find out if the twins are all right."  
Padmé placed her hand softly on his shoulder, and he briefly flew one-handed to give it a squeeze. "Well, with that in mind there are dozens of possibilities," she stated, her eyes on the swiftly passing clouds. "I think what we really need is a planet where there is someone we can trust, someone who won't turn us in when Palpatine issues my arrest warrant." Anakin glanced fleetingly at her but did not comment, because he was beginning to understand that she was probably right.  
The landing pad came into view, partially obscured by the rain and fog, and Anakin lightly touched down beside the skiff. The canopy hissed open and Obi-Wan jumped out, heading up the skiff's boarding ramp, shouting for Artoo to begin the takeoff sequence. Anakin landed neatly on the pad and sprinted around to the other side to help Padmé. The pair ran up the ramp just as the subspace engines whirred to life, and Anakin situated Padmé in the conference cabin as he called, "Get us into space!" Once her crash webbing was secure, Anakin gave Padmé a quick kiss and pleaded, "Don't get up until we're in hyperspace."  
She smiled in resignation, and he ran down the hall to the cockpit, sidestepping Artoo, who was plugged into the console, and settled in to do the one thing he did best – flying.

The skiff parted the dense vapors of the stratosphere and the inky blackness of space filled the viewport, billions of stars winking like diamond dust. The pilot in Anakin assumed full command; focused wholly on maneuvering the ship into the space lanes, his fingers flew over the control panel and guided the craft with uncommon skill. Even without the Force, Anakin was gifted with a talent that few pilots could match. Obi-Wan kept an eye on the transmissions board and radar, pointing out wryly, "Port Control hasn't contacted us to file a flight plan."  
Anakin grunted, "I figure the power grid must have been knocked out all over Coruscant – which means if we can avoid the picket ships in orbit, they won't realize we're gone for a while." He punched a few more buttons, flexing his mechanical hand around the steering levers while he said to the blue astromech unit at his elbow, "Artoo, access the navicomputer and find an isolated hyperspace lane to…" he trailed off. "Where _are_ we going, Master?"  
Obi-Wan glanced sharply at Anakin, but the young man's intense gaze was scanning the open space for the picket line. His lapse into addressing Obi-Wan by his former title was an old habit that Anakin often reverted to when he was concentrating on several tasks at once. It served to remind the older Jedi that this man had been the precocious boy that Obi-Wan had come to regard as a combination of brother and son. The static-filled hologram of Anakin kneeling before the Emperor in the midst of the carnage at the Jedi Temple burst across his vision, and Obi-Wan swallowed back a sour taste in his mouth as he returned to Anakin's question. He studied the star charts critically, calling up lists of planets and colonies on the Outer Rim, until one particular name caught his eye. "There is one place," he said deliberately, summoning the appropriate data to the screen. "It's on the outskirts of the Rim worlds and about as far from the capital as one can get and still be in Republic space. It also has a state-of-the-art MedCenter whose administrator is an old friend of the Jedi – a being of integrity. He will not turn us in."  
"Okay…" Anakin drew out the word, and glanced sideways to see his former Master's expression. "It seems like the perfect place. So why do you sound so nervous?"

Obi-Wan stared hard at him. "Because from this moment on, your wife and children will be fugitives from the Empire. You will have to weigh the consequences of every decision you make by how much you value your family."  
Anakin's blue gaze caught fire. "Are you saying that I'm not strong enough to protect them?"  
"No, Anakin," Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "You have more than enough strength. I'm saying that the safety of Padmé and your children depends greatly on your wisdom. Rash decisions will only aid Palpatine in locating us."  
Anakin bit back a venomous retort, despising, as he always did, the conversations when Obi-Wan revealed Anakin's faults and exposed them to the light. Perhaps if he had listened to him years ago, they would not be in this position now. Anakin nursed his wounded pride in silence, the minutes stretching out as tiny silver triangles appeared in the viewport, and then he finally submitted, asking, "Do you have a better location in mind?"  
The query was devoid of Anakin's usual sarcasm, which mildly surprised Obi-Wan. He shook his head. "Unfortunately, I don't. It would be beneficial if we had more alternatives, but if we coordinate several jumps, our tracks will stay hidden for some time."

Artoo whistled shrilly, a string of notes wandering all over the scale. "I see it, Artoo," Anakin said calmly, watching a trio of Star Destroyers grow larger onscreen, and told Obi-Wan, "Lock in the coordinates. After I break the line, Artoo, plot five consecutive hyperspace jumps, ending the last one at about 3 parsecs from the destination." The little droid beeped an affirmative and began programming the navicomputer. "Master, be ready power up the shields and turbolaser cannons on my mark."  
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, but nonetheless conceded as he remarked, "You're going to shoot at a flight of Star Destroyers while piloting a diplomatic vessel?"  
A feral grin lit up Anakin's face. "Only if I have to." The Jedi Master glanced sidelong at him, and quickly secured his crash restraints. Anakin guided the skiff with the lightest touch, the picket line looming above them as the silver wedge slipped under the shadow of the central Destroyer. He brought the skiff to a dead stop under the monstrous vessel, reducing the engines to sub-light and shutting down all systems except life support, thrusters, and navigation. "Star Destroyers have minimal sensors on the underbelly. If we're lucky, we'll blast out from under them and enter hyperspace before the long-range sensors detect us," Anakin explained in whispers, the outline of his face barely visible in the glow of the auxiliary lights and the distant gleam of the stars.

"How do you know –?" Obi-Wan said in an incredulous undertone.  
Anakin shrugged. "Sometimes I pay attention to briefings. And I ask lots of questions."  
Obi-Wan stifled a guffaw, and Anakin watched the massive ship slowly turn to starboard. "On my mark," he muttered. Then he slammed his palm on the thruster boost and shouted, "Now!" Obi-Wan powered up dozens of systems in seconds, propulsion driving them into their seats as the skiff rocketed out of the Star Destroyer's blind spot and sailed into open space. The proximity alarms wailed throughout the cockpit as Anakin plowed through the orbital sensor grid and they were free of Coruscant's gravity well. "Artoo!" he commanded, and the viewport flooded with starlines as the skiff leapt into hyperspace.  
Anakin leaned back with a satisfied smirk, switching on the autopilot. "That was too easy."  
While he was simply acting overconfident, Obi-Wan felt a twinge of disquiet as he took in Anakin's remark. It _did_ feel too easy. He had seen clones ambush Jedi Masters in full command of the Force, and a picket line could not stop one civilian cruiser? "Hmm…"  
Anakin's cocky demeanor evaporated, and he unbuckled his restraints to stand, speaking somberly, "Don't worry, Master, there's no way they were able to ID the ship before we made the jump. Besides, our trajectory is so wide that there are dozens of planets for them to investigate before they would even consider…" he broke off, and asked curiously, "Where are we going?"

Obi-Wan shook off the worry that had plagued him for days and smiled slightly. "An asteroid mining colony called Polis Massa. It's very isolated and should serve our purposes well." Anakin gazed at him pensively for a moment, and Obi-Wan thought he saw a flicker of fear in his old friend's eyes. But it vanished an instant later, and it was so abrupt that Obi-Wan dismissed it as his imagination.  
Anakin glanced down the hall, and then said, "I'm going to take Padmé to the master suite so she can rest." He left his old Master's presence as speedily as he could without running, a torrent of conflicting emotions churning in his heart.  
Obi-Wan allowed him to leave without detainment, and stared vacantly at the swirling colors outside the viewport. A common goal had temporarily disguised the barriers that now existed between him and Anakin, and now in the tranquility of hyperspace, the reality of those barriers screamed louder than any noise. Obi-Wan wished fleetingly that everything could go back to the way it was, but then the voice of his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, echoed in his head.  
"_There is no direction but forward, Padawan. The Living Force exists in the present moment, so remain centered in the here and now. Keep the past in the past, and leave the concerns of the future for another time. Go forward, Obi-Wan."  
__Go forward._


	11. Dissonant Repose

**Chapter Seven  
**_**Dissonant Repose**_

Anakin's retreat from the cockpit and Obi-Wan's interrogative presence echoed dully through the corridors of the skiff.  
He went the long way to the conference room, staring at his feet as the corridor looped around the cargo hold before reaching the main intersection at the center of the ship. He halted, dragging in deep breaths of filtered air as he struggled to suppress the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.Snatches of his tense conversation with his former Master floated above the steady rumble of the hyperdrive engine, ringing in his ears.  
"…_from this moment on, your wife and children will be fugitives from the Empire."  
_"…_weigh the consequences of every decision…"  
_"…_how much you value your family."  
_Anakin clenched a fist; his temper boiling to the surface as it had when Obi-Wan had first delivered that blatantly insightful remark.  
The Jedi Master had _no_ idea how deep Anakin's feelings were for his family. He valued them more than his loyalty, his integrity, his conscience, his honor…and his life.  
His love for Padmé had kept him tethered to sanity while leading the raid on the Jedi Temple. He would go to the fringes of depravity and ruthlessness and throw himself into the black abyss for her.  
And he had proved it.

Yet the currents of the Force had shifted, at his bidding, and altered the motion of the future.  
He would probably never know if his choice to become a Sith would have saved his wife from death, and spared him the agony of existing while the knowledge that he had failed her tormented him until his last breath.  
Now he was cut off from the Force, and he could not see the future even if he wished – but neither could he influence events as he desired. He was as powerless and as…_ordinary_ as any man.  
The thought was equally terrifying and liberating.  
Anakin no longer possessed the ability to perceive the Force as threads of energy linking the universe together, or to take those threads and manipulate them at will. He could not peer into its mysteries for hidden truths to guide his choices or grant him a measure of wisdom.  
His own voice, sharp and laced with anger, reverberated in his head with stunning clarity. _"Are you saying that I'm not strong enough to protect them?"  
_"_No, Anakin. You have more than enough strength. I'm saying that the safety of Padmé and your children depends greatly on your wisdom."_

Anakin blinked, the nature of that observation washing over him like a wave of icy water, instantly cooling his unruly temper. In the span of a few hours, he had become the sole line of defense for the three dearest people in his life, and his one-time instructor had said that _his_ wisdom governed their safety.  
He was not wise – more often than not Anakin sought Padmé's counsel on nearly every issue. Or when they were apart he asked the advice of one of the Masters on the Jedi Council…and Chancellor Palpatine.  
No, that was not entirely accurate.  
When he could not ask Padmé, either because of distance or his own pride, Anakin simply reacted on whatever impulse he deemed correct – usually with disastrous results. He was not wise. He did not weigh his decisions. Reckless, headstrong, impulsive.  
These descriptions had peppered Obi-Wan's lectures quite frequently.  
The Council denied him the rank of Master because of his "obstinate and reckless behavior", though he never failed to accomplish a mission. He was christened the Chosen One and yet the leaders of the Order rarely sent him into battle without the tutelage and watchful eye of Obi-Wan.

The Masters were so concerned about preparing him to bring balance to the Force that they had not seen he was suffocating under their influence. They coached him to use the knowledge he had been given – but refused to allow circumstances to test that knowledge. Anakin had known the reason from the moment he had set foot in the Jedi Temple.  
They were all afraid.  
As a ten year-old apprentice, Anakin could use the Force in ways that some Padawans had yet to learn. He had been incredibly lonely during his training with the other children at the Temple.  
Some treated him like a god sent to walk among them, with a mixture of awe and fear, not daring to approach…though they stared with wide eyes constantly. The other students reacted with scorn and jealousy, thinking him an outcast because he had not been raised by the Jedi, and watched him surpass his classmates with ill-concealed prejudice. The experience merely served to solidify the philosophy that Anakin learned to live by as a slave on Tatooine: _Power is granted to the strong. The strong have the control.  
_How he wanted to wipe the phrase from his mind.  
It had taught him to be hard, to be the best, to remain set apart from other Jedi and gain respect.

Then one day Obi-Wan came to collect him.  
As a newly named Knight, Obi-Wan became an odd combination of teacher and comrade.  
Typically, their time together had allowed each to serve as master and pupil, untangling the knots of their destinies while building a relationship that some Masters worried was bordering on attachment.  
And now that relationship may be irrevocably damaged.  
Before Anakin lost himself once again in the angst of his betrayals, a voice came wafting out of the conference room not more than ten feet away. Prim, cultured, and perhaps a trifle fussy, the words of C-3PO filled Anakin's ears.  
"…so glad that we left that dreadful place, Miss Padmé. Although I do wish it had not been so _rushed_ – my circuits are still trying to wind down."

"You did a wonderful job, Threepio."  
The warm response made the corners of Anakin's mouth lift slightly, and he took a few silent steps closer to the entryway, content to eavesdrop on his wife and the droid he had built as a child.  
"Oh! Well, I…" Clearly flustered by Padmé's compliment, Threepio recovered his composure, saying, "I was simply following my programming, Miss Padmé." The protocol droid's tone became hesitant. "Are you…certain that there is nothing I can get for you, my lady?"  
Anakin heard the smile in Padmé's voice as she replied, "I'm fine, Threepio – truly. Anakin just asked me to wait here until we are well underway."  
"Very well, Miss Padmé." The droid did not sound entirely convinced – or perhaps he was searching for something to do.  
"If you would like, Threepio, you could take my bag to the master suite and unpack." The words were light and noncommittal, subtly appealing to the droid's core programming.

C-3PO's response was exuberant. "Of course, Miss Padmé!" The servomotors in his legs whirred to life, and shuffling footsteps drew nearer to Anakin's unseen location. He ducked out of sight around a power conduit, watching the golden droid totter down the hall, a black satchel dangling from his stiff arms.  
His mouth tipped into a lopsided grin. Since he had presented Threepio as a gift to his new bride shortly after their wedding, Anakin had spent scattered moments of spare time at home tinkering with the droid's behavioral subroutines. He made miniscule adjustments here and there, improving the droid's relational modifiers and giving him a personality that could withstand the test of time. When the loneliness of being without his wife bore down upon him like a crushing weight on his chest, it was a small comfort knowing that Threepio was her constant shadow, and a reminder of the boy from Tatooine that had promised to marry her. Heart lifted slightly from the mire of self-abasement, Anakin slid out of his hiding spot and strode confidently to the threshold of the conference room.

Padmé was seated in the chair he had placed her in, a thick coverlet of creamy-yellow draped around her shoulders. Her dark hair had dried haphazardly into a riot of tangled curls, and she was fiddling with something around her neck, oblivious to his entrance. Anakin inched closer, not wanting to startle her, narrowing his eyes to make out what she had in her hands. It was a carved piece of wood, dangling from a silver chain, its surface sanded smooth and symbols etched on each side. He recalled vividly sitting at the workbench in his room all night, shaping the japor snippet until it was perfect – perfect enough for Padmé.  
He could still see her young face, brown eyes widened by surprise as he held out his gift.  
_"It's beautiful. But I don't need this to remember you by."  
_Anakin felt a flood of emotions swell in his throat as he studied her lowered head, and he knew that he would spend the rest of his life striving to be worthy of this woman. He stepped over to her chair, scuffing his soles on the floor so she would hear his approach.

Padmé glanced up quickly, the japor snippet falling from her fingertips into the folds of the coverlet, and her pale, tired face lit up with a bright smile. "Ani," she said happily. He bent over and laid a gentle kiss on her forehead, and then crouched down beside her chair, looking up at her with piercing blue eyes that begged to please.  
She brushed the tousled locks from his forehead, her soft fingers lingering on his cheek, and Anakin fought to remember what he had come in here to tell her. All he was aware of was Padmé, and the way her eyes sparkled with fragments of starlight, illuminating the irises until he became lost in their depths.  
Her hand returned to her lap, and Anakin mentally shook himself. He would not be able to protect his family if he kept acting like a lovesick bantha. Quietly, he announced, "We're heading for an asteroid mining colony on the Outer Rim called Polis Massa." Padmé's expression flashed with uncertainty, but Anakin continued, "Obi-Wan knows the administrator of the MedCenter there. We'll be safe."  
He was not sure if he added that for her benefit or his.  
Padmé nodded serenely, but a trickle of moisture escaped from the corner of her eye. She swiped hurriedly at her face, swallowing the tears burning the back of her throat, hoping that Anakin hadn't noticed. She glanced sideways at her young husband, and her heart plummeted when she saw that his handsome face was a study of misery. Two large hands reached out to frame her cheeks, and tenderly his thumb brushed the stray tear away. "Please don't cry," he said hoarsely.

She nodded, her lips quivering as she whispered tremulously, "I'm so scared, Ani. I'm so scared for the twins. What if something happened to our babies…? What if…?" The words disappeared into a stifled sob, and Anakin heard his heart crack as Padmé averted her gaze, vainly attempting to remain calm.  
He swallowed hard, eyes stinging as silent drops of saltwater escaped from beneath Padmé's thick black lashes. It seems all he ever did lately was make her cry. Her sadness turned into a physical ache in his breast – a wound that bled out all of his strength. He had to fix this. She only deserved happiness. Wordlessly, he unbuckled her crash restraints and helped her to her feet. She wavered for a moment, unsure of her footing, her surroundings blurred by unshed tears and fatigue. Then a pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around her, lifting her off of weakened legs and cradling her against the broad expanse of her husband's chest. Padmé let out a small, hiccupping sigh, and Anakin held her closer, pressing her body firmly into his until she felt the wild emotions rampaging through her begin to subside.  
His footsteps rang throughout the skiff's corridors, and Padmé tucked her head under his chin, one slender hand splayed over her belly. Anakin carried her into the master suite, dismissing C-3PO with a single nod before closing the door and dimming the cabin lights until everything was bathed in a soft golden glow.

He laid her gently on the bed, the downy mattress cushioning Padmé's exhausted form, the satin softness of a pillow caressing her cheek. The fabric shifted as Anakin stretched out behind her, pulling a quilt over them, and drew her close, their bodies nestled together like spoons. She felt his lips against her ear as he murmured, "Everything will be all right, Padmé. I promise." His breath warmed her cheek and tickled the tiny hairs on her temple. She felt completely drained, like a water bucket with a hole in the bottom. The razor-sharp edge of her anxiety was dulled by Anakin's tender comfort, but it did not vanish.  
It lurked in the dark corners of her mind, feeding on her still-burning fear of an unfathomable future.  
But while she was tucked securely in her Jedi's embrace, soaring far away from the malevolence that blanketed the capital, Padmé's eyelids grew heavy, coaxing her into blissful rest.

Anakin sensed his wife's tense muscles loosen, and her breathing deepened. She was so tired, and still hurting from that blaster injury, but she would never let any weakness deter her in a crisis. He knew that her self-control had reached its limit when tears had spilled down her face. She rarely cried in front of him; he suspected that the reason was to spare him the agony of witnessing her sorrow. Anakin's eyes fell as he listened to her breathe. She was strong – so much stronger than him, and it had nothing to do with the Force or any other cosmic power. The strength came from inside her. Padmé possessed an indomitable spirit and an iron will, as well as an abundance of compassion and morality.  
She would never fall to the dark side.  
In the space of one shuddering breath, Anakin realized that if he stayed in the darkness, he would lose her. He supposed that knowledge had come upon him earlier, when the terror in Padmé's gaze stemmed from his approach – but he had refused to think of it. He had already made too many mistakes.

His thoughts drifted to the source of Padmé's worry – their tiny hopes cocooned inside her. His palm trailed down her forearm and curled around the bulge, feeling the warmth there.  
"_This is a happy moment. The happiest moment of my life."  
_He had meant every word. To be a father was a blessing that no Jedi ever dreamed of hoping for, and Anakin counted himself as the most fortunate man in the universe by receiving Padmé's love and the indescribable gift of seeing himself represented among future generations. If anything had happened to them… He squelched the bitter thought. The skiff would arrive at Polis Massa in twelve standard hours, and everything would be all right. He rubbed his hand gently over Padmé's stomach, and in her sleep, her palm slid over his, covering the swelling with their intertwining fingers.  
Anakin smiled drowsily into the dark curls of her hair, brushing his lips over her cheek, and whispered, "I love you." He floated into the soothing blankness of sleep, unafraid – perhaps for the first time in his life – that nightmares would torment his unconscious mind. He no longer dreaded the night.  
The barest of movements, like the tentative beating of a butterfly's wings, stirred under the slumbering couple's fingertips, but the encompassing embrace of weariness kept them unaware.

------------

He had been staring at the same exact spot on the wall for over an hour.  
Obi-Wan rubbed the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes closed as flashes of color burst behind his eyelids. Blinking the cockpit into focus, his gaze flitted over to the navicomputer and R2-D2, who was still resolutely monitoring the skiff's course. The little droid's optical receptor rotated and burbled a query.  
Obi-Wan read the translation on the console – he never could understand droids the way Anakin did – and replied, "No, that's quite all right, Artoo. I have complete confidence in your navigational skills." He slowly stood, feeling every bruise, and his expression twisted into a painful grimace. Single-mindedness had diverted his attention from his injuries, but now that this particular crisis was over, he required treatment. Normally, the Jedi Master would sink into a meditation trance and allow the Force to heal his body, but…well.  
He supposed a trip to the medicinal supply container was in order.

Obi-Wan limped to the cockpit doorway, and Artoo whistled after him. He waved a hand over his shoulder absently, scouring his memory for the layout of this craft. The constant thrum of the engines filled each chamber and hall, and he walked through the corridors cautiously. His body ached, but that was only part of the reason for his watchfulness. The vacant passageways served as a physical manifestation of the hollowness he felt in the caverns of his heart.  
Obi-Wan was _alone_ – body and soul – for the first time in his life.  
The Force had eluded him, and the connection may never be restored. His family, the Jedi Order, was being hunted down and exterminated by a Sith Lord who had dominion over the galaxy. And Anakin…his Padawan, his friend, his brother…he did not even know him anymore. Hopelessness was all-too-familiar territory for Obi-Wan Kenobi. He pitied the common folk of the universe – the everyday beings that trudged throughout their lives as empty shells, oblivious to the currents surrounding and connecting them.  
He chuckled – a puff of breath – at the irony. The great General Kenobi, the Negotiator, victor over General Grievous, and member of the Jedi Council…now counted among the "common folk."

Obi-Wan passed a storage room with a few canisters stacked in a corner, and backpedaled to investigate. Opening the nearest one, he fished out a handful of healing patches and a few pain pills.  
He briefly considered removing his tunic to apply a patch to a particularly sore spot on his torso, but decided instead to find sleeping quarters. Gathering the supplies in his arms, Obi-Wan started off down the left hallway, noting the slight limp on his right leg. Then he passed the only closed portal he had seen on the skiff and paused, staring at the doorway with an indefinable expression.  
"_I'm going to take Padmé to the master suite so she can rest."  
_He sighed heavily, turning his gaze from the portal. He had already made his peace with his mistakes, but that did not make them any easier to bear. Two doors past the master suite Obi-Wan found a room outfitted with a cluster of bunks – crew quarters, no doubt.  
He deposited the medical supplies on the lower bunk near the threshold, and peered over his shoulder. At this angle, he had a clear view of the master suite door. It gnawed at his conscience to spy on the young couple, and the Jedi Master resolved to close the door so that he would not dwell on the unknowns. He raised a hand to gesture – and halted in mid-wave, feeling utterly foolish. Obi-Wan pressed a button on the control panel inset on the wall, eyes fixed on that far door as it disappeared from view.

He shed his burnt and torn tunic, pulled off his boots, and padded barefoot to the utilitarian refresher unit, clutching some healing patches in a fist. The reflection in the mirror made him pause.  
Obi-Wan saw a middle-aged man that seemed to have grown old overnight. Deep, shadowed circles hung under his blue-grey eyes, and the expression of sorrowful defeat in those eyes caused him to look away, redirecting his gaze to his injuries. There was a large, mottled bruise on his left side, above the ribcage.  
He massaged his fingertips over it timidly, hissing at the sharp jab of pain, and promptly covered the mark with a kolto patch.  
Turning sideways, Obi-Wan caught sight of a long, raised burn on his right arm, curving around the bicep. Slapping on another patch, he activated the water pump in the small sink. Tossing a pill into his mouth, he cupped water in a palm and swallowed. The liquid tasted faintly metallic from recycling through the skiff's replenishing systems.

Ignoring the broken man in the mirror, Obi-Wan settled onto the bunk, his leg twinging, but that wound would have to be treated at the MedCenter on Polis Massa. The mattress was surprisingly comfortable for a crewman's bunk, but Naboo was financially stable and Padmé had always been generous to those in her service. Though it most likely would not help, he closed his eyes and began concentrating on his breathing, beginning the initial phase of a meditation trance.  
_In…out…in…out…  
_He sank deep inside himself, dredging up the embittered questions and erratic feelings that he had shoved into the dark places of his mind in order to concentrate on the present moment. He did not want to confront them – the wounds that those experiences had inflicted were still raw and bleeding. But Obi-Wan knew that if such memories were ignored, they would cause far more damage.  
He let the most heartbreaking subject rise to the surface.  
_"I cannot kill Anakin. He is like my brother. I cannot do it."  
_He had pleaded with a desperation beyond anything he had faced in the past, and Yoda had only looked at him with sad eyes, waiting for him to accept.  
Accept. It was a simple word, and one that every Jedi learned to practice at an early age.  
It never got any easier.

_In…out…in…out…  
_Through the indigo haze of their crossed blades, Obi-Wan had forced himself to see the black shadows hidden behind Anakin's well-known face. He had dismissed the anguish that weighed like heavy stones in his chest as he searched for an opening to strike down his best friend. And the question arose.  
Would he have done it?  
Would he have killed Anakin?  
_No.  
_The answer carried both relief and sadness. While staying his hand may have allowed Anakin to find redemption, it also meant that Obi-Wan had failed in his duty, and as a Master. He could not accept the death of his old Padawan – no matter what he had done.  
Obi-Wan was as much at fault as Anakin, for they had both broken the Jedi Code.  
_Attachment is forbidden.  
_He was no longer certain if he believed that tenet. Obi-Wan had witnessed firsthand how Anakin's attachment to Padmé had driven him to the seductive embrace of the dark side – but he had also seen how Padmé's attachment to Anakin had transformed into a lifeline, pulling the young man from the shadows and back into the light. Perhaps attachment was not the dangerous emotion the Jedi Council perceived it to be.

Obi-Wan released his speculations into the ether and called upon another.  
"_You have been blinded for a long time, Anakin. Open your eyes."  
_The profound sense of failure that had tormented the Jedi Master since learning of Anakin's conversion was rooted in time.  
Many Council members, even Obi-Wan himself, had reservations about his Padawan conversing so often with the Supreme Chancellor. At first, Obi-Wan had seen it as a blessing. The boy had lost his mother and many things he had held dear, and Obi-Wan heard of his alienation from the other pupils within the Temple. Another role model from a different walk of life would assist Anakin on the path to his destiny and keep the galaxy in perspective.  
_In…out…in…out…  
_They had all been deceived.  
Anakin began spouting phrases of the Chancellor as though they were great pearls of wisdom, and the young man sought his advice on nearly every issue. When the war intensified, Chancellor Palpatine subtly prodded the Council to assign Anakin to the most critical missions, solidifying his arguments with hints that the Jedi considered their "Chosen One" to be unprepared for what awaited him.  
And the Council gave in to the Chancellor's suggestions, again and again. Anakin gained the moniker "The Hero With No Fear", which he wore with pride, and the citizens of the Republic recognized his face in all corners of the galaxy, certain that the intense Jedi Knight would save them.  
The plan was ingenious.

Free of the murky cloud of the dark side that had permeated the Force for decades, Obi-Wan's blinded eyes were opened to the concealed devices of the Sith. The Jedi had willingly surrendered the pliable mind of the Chosen One to the Chancellor, and Palpatine had acted upon their error eagerly, feeding Anakin's arrogance and notions of glory with cunning. During Anakin's training, he guaranteed his position as the young Jedi's counselor and friend, patiently awaiting the moment when that loyalty would be put to the ultimate test.  
Palpatine's near-obsessive interest in Anakin, the instances during the war when the light and the dark appeared to battle for control over Anakin's psyche, and his extraordinary strength in the Force finally wove together to form the answer Obi-Wan had needed since the day he made a promise to his Master.  
Was Anakin the Chosen One of the prophecy?  
_Yes.  
_Obi-Wan did not truly understand the implications of the prophecy. Bringing balance to the Force was an ambiguous task, to say the least. Whatever it entailed, he was convinced that Anakin would succeed.  
The young man burned with power; sometimes it seemed as if his skin was the only thing containing the Force energy fused in every cell of his body. Yet, the Council had agreed to Qui-Gon's last request and given Anakin to a newly titled Knight for training.  
Obi-Wan wanted to believe that it had been an act of trust, and maybe it had been to some – but he wondered why one of the Masters on the Council did not offer to guide the boy instead. And then he remembered what Yoda had told him he sensed in the future.

"_The Chosen One the boy may be. Nevertheless, grave danger I sense in his training."  
_Indeed, the danger had already swept over the galaxy. The dark side had smothered Anakin like a shroud, influencing his thinking and coercing him into deeds of unspeakable malice. Perhaps being the Chosen One did not limit itself to the realms of extremes – light or dark, good or evil, savior or tyrant. Perhaps the Chosen One is destined to tread the precarious edge between all things – to _become_ all things in order to achieve balance.  
And Obi-Wan realized that Anakin would need his friendship now more than ever.  
He did not wish to condemn Anakin; his mistakes, though misguided and catastrophic, were all too human. Astonishing power, a weighted destiny, and an unusual birth did not change the fact that Anakin Skywalker was just a man – a young man who had followed his heart and bartered his soul in an effort to save the woman he loved. Anakin must find his own internal balance before setting out to face his destiny.

A swirling myriad of questions consumed Obi-Wan's thoughts, but he put them firmly aside, refocusing on the soft inhale and exhale of his lungs.  
_In…out…in…out…  
_He began emptying his mind of all thought, and tried to expand his awareness outward – a rudimentary skill for the youngest of the Jedi Order. There was nothing. Obi-Wan heard his heartbeat thudding dully in his ears, his chest rising and falling as he breathed, but he felt trapped within his own flesh.  
Frustrated, Obi-Wan pushed his perception as far as he could, extending tendrils of thought into a void that had once teemed with life. Beads of sweat rolled down his wrinkled brow as he fumbled blindly in the darkness for the slightest trace of the Force.  
A sudden glimmer flashed at the fringes of his vision, darting away from his mental touch, and Obi-Wan felt an unexpected rush of hope. He was not dead to the Force – the connection had been severely attacked, but it could be mended. He fought for tranquility, quieting his thoughts, and the tiny glimmer returned.  
Keeping to the far reaches of Obi-Wan's consciousness, this wisp of Force energy appeared drawn to the Jedi Master. He found it almost impossible to interpret the motivation of whoever or whatever was generating the spark of awareness. It sounded like a voice, and yet not a voice, and there were no completely formed thoughts – only strains of vague emotions. It was as if the Force Sensitive mind trying to communicate was not fully…  
_It can't be._

The shock jolted Obi-Wan out of his inner self, and his brief contact with the Force evaporated.  
He wiped his brow with a sleeve, and he felt winded, like he had run a great distance. Inwardly, he was reeling from a supposition that was too fantastic to be real. But there was no other explanation.  
The glimmer that had awakened as Obi-Wan labored to rejoin the Force was the untrained mind of one  
of Padmé's twins. It had sought him out in the vacuum, most likely because the little one did not sense their father. The idea that an unborn child of Anakin Skywalker possessed enough Force sensitivity to reach into the universe raised mingled feelings of optimism and uncertainty in Obi-Wan's heart.  
But he would be glad to report to Padmé that the babies were unharmed.  
The Jedi Master lay back wearily, descending into a contented sleep, musing inwardly at how much that small mind reminded him of Anakin.

------------

Commander Cody was a soldier.  
It was what he had been created to do, and he made certain that he did his job better than any other clone in the Grand Army of the Republic. _I suppose it's the Empire now, _Cody reflected blandly. Not that it mattered much to him – or any of the troopers in his squadron. The Emperor had issued a direct order, and, unlike his botched assignment on Utapau, Cody would not fail this time.  
Failure was a sign of weakness in a leader.  
And he was human enough to feel the icy touch of dread at reporting another failure to Sidious.  
The gunship swung in a final arc around Five Hundred Republica, and Cody leaned with the inertia, peering out into the rainstorm.  
The thermal sensors built into his helmet were having a difficult time reading anything in the dense, swirling fog.  
It made him wary.

He had listened stoically to the debriefings of various ARC troopers stationed all around the Rim, and heard them boast that the Jedi had been completely blindsided. 'Like shooting nunas in a barrel,' one of them had said smugly. Frankly, Cody preferred more of a challenge. It struck him as a bit odd that sheer numbers had overwhelmed the Jedi so easily. Commander Bacara, serving on the frozen world of Mygeeto, implied that the element of surprise had been key in defeating Master Ki-Adi-Mundi. But that in and of itself seemed unusual to Cody. Jedi always seemed to know what was around the next bend. He had seen Kenobi preempt a droid ambush and save hundreds of troopers' lives by "sensing" the attack. And he had watched Skywalker, with a strange gleam in his eye, point at an ostensibly empty space on the battlefield and map out targets that only he could see.

The Emperor had informed Cody that Skywalker – or Vader, as he called him – was an ally and therefore exempt from Order 66, which made Cody's task a little more straightforward.  
Alone, Kenobi would prove to be a challenge, but Cody understood many of his tactics. It was one of the reasons they worked so well together during the war. When Skywalker joined Kenobi, however…the entire battle would change. In all of his observations, Cody had never witnessed a fight that pair of Jedi could not win. They were the perfect compliment to one another – from a soldier's point of view – and together they formed a single entity that laid waste to any in their path.  
Truthfully, he hoped that Skywalker had worn Kenobi down before the younger man had fallen.

His pilot announced that a landing area had been sighted, and Cody braced his armored legs for the descent. He was unsure what role the Senator of Naboo had in this escapade, but he did not question orders. It was not in his nature. Lord Sidious demanded that she be brought to him alive and unharmed, and Cody would do so. He had run a dozen scenarios in his head regarding Kenobi's capture, but none of them seemed practical. He decided to tell the squadron to simply shoot the Jedi on sight.  
Cody suspected that Kenobi would simply bat the laser bolts aside with his lightsaber, but still…  
The gunship slowed and was brought to hover above a ruined stone veranda. Cody used hand signals to deploy his squadron, and the troopers disembarked one at a time, fanning out around the area.  
After notifying the pilot to maintain altitude five meters above the building to watch for any escaping aircraft, Cody swung off the gunship, a DC-17 rifle held self-assuredly at his side.

The gunship rose into the rain-soaked sky, and Cody glimpsed a flash of silver through the thickening clouds. "Man down!" A trooper yelled from the far left, and Cody's head whipped around, half-expecting to see a blue bar of light cut through the fog. The trooper knelt beside the body of a fellow clone, the helmet nowhere to be seen, and laid two fingers under his jaw. "Dead, sir," he reported grimly.  
Cody stepped forward to examine the body when he suddenly remembered that metallic glimmer he had spotted within the storm clouds. He immediately looked to the northeast, but there was nothing but rain and grey mists. He activated his wrist comlink and said, "Pilot, are you detecting any transponder readings in the vicinity?"  
"Negative, Commander," the pilot's response came back, crackling with static.  
Cody pondered a moment in silence. He could send the gunship northeast to track whatever he had seen, but there were too many "ifs" in that course of action. Besides, if the squadron did come in contact with the Jedi Master, he would need to be able to call in reinforcements.  
"Sir?"  
Cody cut off his comlink and glanced at the approaching trooper. "What is it, Captain?"  
"We found more bodies, sir." He gestured to the right, at two other troopers carrying a body to place next to the dead squad leader. "So far we've counted six."  
"Now we know what happened to that missing squadron," Cody remarked stiffly.

"We also found this." The captain held out a black and silver cylindrical object. Cody stared at it a moment in silence, and then extended his palm. The captain slapped it into his padded glove as if frightened that the weapon would magically come to life and slice him in half.  
Cody spoke sharply, "Once you have finished your sweep of the veranda, take the squadron inside and search the apartment. Use the utmost caution, Captain. Dismissed." The captain saluted briskly, and spun on heel, striding across the rubble toward the faint outline of pillars emerging from the fog.  
With a guarded downward glance, Cody studied the Jedi lightsaber in his hand.  
He had seen dozens of these weapons during his service in the Clone Wars, and no two lightsabers were alike. The Jedi said that a lightsaber was an extension of the body, and was as unique as the individual that wielded it. This one was sleek and elegant in its simplicity, with contrasting elements of matte black and gleaming silver. A wide grip encircled the casing, and the slightly sloped emitter allowed for precise control of the blade, which Cody knew for certain to be a fierce blue-white. His thumb passed hesitantly over the activator stud, lost in thought.  
This was Anakin Skywalker's lightsaber – he would stake his life on it.

The Emperor had stated that he was dead, but Cody's squad had located only six bodies. Deeply troubled, Cody made his way over to the medic, who was efficiently inspecting the corpses for cause of death.  
"Only these six, then?" he asked brusquely.  
"As far as we know, sir," the medic answered without pausing from his examination.  
"Have you determined the cause of death?" Cody peered sidelong at the nearest clone, his confusion mounting when he saw no gashes on the trooper's body.  
"There are no signs of physical trauma, other than the traces of blood on the ears and nostrils. My hypothesis is that the cause of death was psychological, sir, resulting in some type of brain aneurism. It also appears that all six members of the squadron were killed by the same assailant at the same time."  
A cold shiver of apprehension wormed its way into Cody's gut. "The same time?"  
The medic finally looked up at him, his bare face showing a hint of worry, and replied, "Yes, sir. By my estimations, TOD for all six is only microseconds apart."

As the rain drummed steadily on his helmet, Cody turned aside from the dead and stared unseeingly at horizon, fingering the lightsaber resting in his fist. In his reasoning, psychological damage to a being's mind equaled the Force. And the explosion that had rocked the capital and sent battalions of soldiers among the populace to restore order had unknown origins. Cody's eyes darted to the crumbling veranda beneath his feet. There were oddly spherical ruptures in the stone, almost like ripples in a pond. Cody noticed that they spread in ever-widening arcs from a point near the building. He followed the wrinkles to an untouched section of the veranda, where the destruction appeared to spread out in all directions, like the epicenter of an earthquake.  
He knelt and scrutinized the intact marble with increasing concern. This investigation was beyond his scope. Whatever had caused the widespread devastation of Galactic City may have been the same thing that had killed those clones, and perhaps Skywalker as well.  
But Cody had never seen a Jedi use his or her power in a deliberate act of obliteration, so Kenobi could not have done this…or so he speculated.  
Cody suddenly found himself wishing that the Jedi was not here.

His communicator hissed. "Commander Cody," a tinny voice issued from the device.  
Cody checked the frequency before replying – even he could not tell one clone from another just by voice alone. "Report, Sergeant."  
"We've swept the residence, sir – no life signs." Cody exhaled quietly, unaware that he had been holding his breath. The sergeant continued, "There is evidence of recent activity but no indication of forced entry or violence within the apartment."  
"Did you find Skywalker's body?"  
There was a brief second of silence. "No, sir," he replied. "But we did find something that you should come and see."  
Cody signed off and began walking toward the massive winged statues hovering outside the apartment, hooking the discarded lightsaber on his ammo belt. He pulled off his helmet in the darkened interior, the Jedi weapon thumping softly against his white body armor.  
A trooper signaled him from a smaller room near the turbolift access. Cody crossed the threshold as the sergeant looked up from a scanner that he held poised over a large piece of material lying on the plush carpeted floor. "Here, sir," the sergeant gestured at the readout on the scanner, tilting the screen so that Cody could see the data. "There's blood on this blanket."

Cody blinked, startled. He bent down for a closer look, and found the scant droplets of crimson on the velvety coverlet. "Can you determine whose blood this is?"  
The sergeant shook his head. "This scanner has limited capabilities, sir. It will have to be taken to a lab for full analysis. The only thing I _can_ tell you with some certainty is that the blood came from two individuals, and judging from the chromosome total of a sample, one is a human male."  
"Very good, Sergeant," Cody nodded in approval. "Get that to a MedLab right away, and have them test the male sample for a midichlorian count."

If the sergeant was curious about his orders, he didn't show it, but his tone altered subtly as he answered, "Yes, sir." He saluted Cody, and then called over two troopers to assist him in packaging the blanket in preparation for travel through the curtains of rain.  
Cody watched them for a few minutes, tucking his helmet under an arm while he wandered idly throughout the Senator's home.  
As an ARC trooper, Cody was an uncomplicated man – give him a mission, and he would carry it out, as simple as that. What he had thought would be a clear-cut excursion had morphed into a twisted tangle of mystery and intrigue with no beginning or end in sight.  
Cody had more questions now than answers, and he doubted that some even _had_ a logical explanation.  
The only assurance Commander Cody held in his perplexed brain was that the galaxy had become a far more complicated place.

------------

Senator Amidala's skiff dropped out of lightspeed at approximately 4.2 standard hours of travel, precisely when Artoo had programmed the navicomputer to disengage. The reliable little astromech had coordinated 5 small jumps as Master Anakin had ordered, even though Threepio had insisted that the ship keep going for the sake of the Senator's health. Artoo was inclined to agree, but his careful observations of the humans indicated that Master Anakin considered Miss Padmé's well-being the highest priority.

Artoo's optical processors analyzed the imagery outside the cockpit viewport. Three parsecs from the prow of the skiff – as Master Anakin had asked – the small planetoid of Polis Massa hung suspended in orbit while a tumbling ring of asteroids endlessly circled its gravity well.  
The droid's blue and white body swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees, and Artoo started the servomotors controlling the wheels that gave him mobility. Whistling at Threepio to stay in the cockpit on watch, Artoo rolled down the ship's main corridor toward the master suite.  
They had arrived.


	12. Paradigm Shift: Prelude

**Chapter Eight  
**_**Paradigm Shift: Prelude**_

A soft two-tone chime stirred Anakin from a blissfully dreamless sleep, and he blinked gritty eyes in disorientation. The chime rang again, and he slowly untangled his limbs from Padmé and clambered to his feet, tucking the quilt carefully around her. Satisfied that she did not awaken, he plodded over to the door and released the electronic lock, yawning mightily. With a barely audible hiss the door slid aside, and he squinted into the brightly lit corridor as a lively chirrup echoed through the vacant ship. "Shh," Anakin shushed, waving hastily at Artoo to quiet down as he threw an anxious look over his shoulder at the motionless figure on the bed. He stepped out into the hall, the metallic floor cold under his bare feet, and muttered to the little astromech droid, "Are we there?"

Artoo replied in a subdued series of tweets, his domed head rotating in the direction of the suite door. Anakin noticed the motion and wondered once again how someone could see a droid as nothing more than a utility, like a moisture vaporator. "She'll be fine, Artoo," he soothed, touching the blue and silver dome with his gloved hand. "Head back to the cockpit and plot a course for the settlement; tell Obi-Wan that I'll be there after he speaks to their Port Control."  
Artoo whistled a short burst of notes, drawing out the last one questioningly. "Obi-Wan's not in the cockpit? Where did he go?"  
Artoo beeped – the equivalent of a shrug. Anakin sighed wearily, running a hand through his disheveled hair. In all likelihood his old Master had bedded down in one of the crew quarters to get some much needed rest. The prospect of searching him out while things were so tense between them, however, was not an idea that Anakin wanted to entertain. "Okay," he said nonchalantly, as though it didn't really matter to him, "why don't you check the crew quarters for Obi-Wan and I'll plot a course to Polis Massa."

Artoo trilled in response and began rolling down the corridor, intent on his task to find Obi-Wan. Anakin stared after him, shaking his head good-naturedly, and then crept back into the master suite. He brought up the lights and sat on the edge of the mattress beside his sleeping wife. "Padmé," he murmured, stroking the back of his fingers along her cheek. Her eyes fluttered behind their lids, and he smoothed her curls away from her face. "Padmé," he called again, "we're here."  
Padmé heard someone calling to her, but the desire to stay immersed in her dreams was too strong to resist. A gentle hand rubbed her shoulder, and then a warm palm caressed her neck, urging her to awaken with tentative sweetness. Her mouth bowed into a sleepy smile as she whispered throatily, "I'm awake."  
Soft breath wafted across her face. "Then open your eyes," Anakin teased before giving her a brief kiss, wisps of his hair brushing against her forehead. She blinked groggily, and her husband's handsome face swam hazily into view, flashing her a reassuring grin. Padmé lingered in the peacefulness between asleep and awake until the ache in her shoulder and the drone of spacecraft engines brought her to full consciousness.  
"Have we arrived?" She asked, shifting her body on the mattress and using an arm to prop herself up. A movement that she immediately regretted, as the dull ache of her injury blossomed into a searing pain that scorched her raw nerves. She gasped sharply and fell back against the pillows with a whimpering cry. Anakin leapt to his feet, hovering over her anxiously, his eyes two large azure pools burning in his white face.  
"Are you all right?" He pressed his flesh hand to her cheek urgently, the fear that he had buried in the recesses of his thoughts exploding to the surface.

Padmé drew in several deep breaths, her muscles shaking in the aftereffects of the sudden pain. When she was convinced that her voice would not reflect the agony she still felt, Padmé raised her eyes and assured her worried husband, "I'm all right, Ani. I just forgot about my shoulder and it surprised me, that's all." Anakin remained silent, settling himself on the bed, his thumb endlessly stroking her cheek while his other hand curled gently around her upper arm. Encircled by Anakin's tender but somewhat troubling embrace, Padmé searched his face for telltale clues of what was rushing like a fierce gale through his thoughts. His eyes had darkened from the soft blue of an afternoon sky to the smoky cobalt of twilight. The muscles in his cheekbones flexed, and he swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths, fighting to regain his center. And all the while he touched her – tracing the elegant lines of her face and arms as if he were frightened that she might disappear – evaporate like the mist that rose from the snow-capped mountains on Naboo.  
Padmé sighed quietly to herself. "The Hero With No Fear" was an apt title for Anakin Skywalker on the battlefields of the Clone Wars. The reports she had received in Senate meetings and her own personal experience in the execution arena on Geonosis four years ago testified that Anakin paid no heed to thoughts of his own safety. She did not know whether to call that fearless…or reckless.

But anything that threatened her safety or that of their unborn twins – and the fear that he successfully ignored all of his life closed over him like deep water, drowning him into submission. Ani felt every emotion so strongly, and in some ways she envied that ability.  
His passion for her was so deep, so intense and pure, that she never had reason to doubt his love. Hers was no less intense than his – it was just that she let other circumstances overtake areas of her mind and heart, and she could not focus solely on her feelings for him. Padmé twisted slightly under Anakin's fervent caresses to raise a slender hand and frame his strong jaw. His eyelids quivered as they slid closed, and a ragged breath drifted across her fingers before he turned his head and his lips warmed her palm. "Anakin," she spoke in a quiet murmur, but the emotion behind her words commanded his attention. "Look at me." Reluctantly, smoldering blue eyes met her gaze, and Padmé stared intently into those familiar orbs, concentrating on the beautiful soul that she knew yet lingered within. "I'll be fine – we'll _all_ be fine. You don't need to think about saving me…" Her fingers threaded into his golden tresses as a caring smile brightened her face. "You already have."

Padmé suddenly found herself wrapped in Anakin's arms, holding her with tender carefulness, his eyelashes brushing the smooth skin of her neck. Despite the muted throb of the blaster wound, she returned his embrace, her hands splaying his broad back. He had saved far more than her life – on numerous occasions. Anakin had saved her from a life bound to the self-sacrificial mindset that she had adopted since her appointment as Senator – a life devoid of the incomparable joy of belonging to the one she loved, and knowing that he belonged to her, no matter the obstacles or consequences. She wished so desperately to share this new life that she had been given with him – the twins had been her conduits for that wish. Perhaps when Ani saw their tiny faces and cradled them to his chest, he would finally shed the shackles of his past and welcome the future.  
Anakin let his senses become consumed by Padmé as he held her close, her confident promise soothing the beast that was his fear, calming its roars to a barely audible growl. Even without the ability to submerge in her essence in the Force, he lost himself in the warmth of her body, the silky softness of her skin, and the scent of her hair. "Thank you," he whispered into her ear, laying a gentle kiss on her cheek before pulling away to see her expression. As their noses brushed together, Padmé captured his lips with her own, and the devoted sweetness of her kiss caused his heart to clench. He needed her so much…he did not know what he would do or what he would be without her. They slowly parted, and Anakin sat back on the mattress, struggling to concentrate on the present moment. "Yes, we've arrived at Polis Massa. Artoo went to find Obi-Wan so he can speak to Port Control and clear us for an unauthorized landing."

"Does the Repub –'' she paused, and corrected herself awkwardly, "The Empire have a presence in this quadrant?"  
Anakin shook his head. "No, this sector of the Outer Rim for the most part was unaffected by the war. And Obi-Wan claims that the administrator of the MedCenter here is an old friend of the Jedi." He had said almost all of this earlier, but his wife had been exhausted and worried about their babies…  
As the thought arose, his gaze flicked to Padmé's swollen belly, and he hesitated briefly before laying a palm on her abdomen.  
Padmé noticed the change in his face and followed his gaze just as she felt his hand come to rest over the twins. "Have they moved at all yet?" he asked in a hushed tone, staring fixedly at the bulge.  
"I'm not sure," Padmé answered quietly. "I thought that maybe they moved while I was sleeping, but I got so used to it over the past few months that I might have imagined it."  
Anakin's gaze darted to hers – a swift flash of blue – before returning to his long fingers spread over her belly, biting his lower lip.  
She watched every movement, inwardly pondering these outward manifestations of his mood, and she slid her fingers over his. "Are you going to tell me what happened now?" she asked softly, keeping her voice low and gentle. She desperately wanted to know what had happened in that missing piece of her life; the slice of time that had brought destruction to the capital, given determination to Obi-Wan, tamed Anakin's rage, and stilled the little stars in her womb.  
He froze, and Padmé knew that whatever had happened, he felt that he was responsible. He hated to speak of his failures – whether it was a mission or a discussion with the Council, he could not bear to seem unworthy of her love. She never gave him a reason to feel that way. It was something he did to himself.

Anakin felt his heart thundering in his chest, and he lowered his eyes, feeling the hot rush of shame wash over his skin. He had to tell her now, before the twins were born; she would have some time to think before she banned him from ever holding their precious ones in his arms after she realized what he had done. Clinging to the memory of Padmé enfolding him in her love on the rain-soaked veranda, Anakin took a deep breath and willed himself to meet her velvety gaze. "After you were hurt…I – I lost control of my power.  
I was so…_angry_ at the Force, at myself…I wanted to make it stop." His voice cracked, and Padmé was struck to the core at the forlorn remorse filling his cerulean orbs. "I let all my rage, my helplessness, and my pain turn into a weapon, and I used to – hurt the Force. All of the connections around me dissolved, and…" Anakin inhaled deeply, his battered soul pleading for him to still his tongue, but he continued doggedly. "And what I did – made ripples in the Force, making things happen all over the galaxy."  
"So," Padmé said in a small voice, just above a whisper, "the clones on the veranda, the shattered windows, the speeder accidents…" He gave the barest nod. "That was you?"

"I think I – survived – because I was the cause, but I can't use the Force anymore, and neither can Obi-Wan. He must have…withdrawn from the Force somehow, so it didn't affect him as strongly."  
He paused, and Padmé's trembling fingers resting over his knuckles made his eyelids sting. Her dark eyes had grown wide throughout his monologue, and her mouth opened as if she wanted to speak, but for a few moments the words refused to come.  
Finally she asked haltingly, "But, Ani…" He felt a fleeting burst of hope that she could call him by that name, "I don't understand. If you…hurt the Force and it caused all those disasters, why…?"  
"Why didn't it kill you?" Anakin finished bleakly. "I think it was because our twins protected you, and themselves." Padmé blinked at him, taken aback. "Both of them are very strong in the Force – I could sense it. That's why they aren't active; I think that they used all of their energy shielding you, that…that they need time to recover."  
Padmé's overwhelmed mind fought to absorb all the revelations that shook her equilibrium. "Then…" She sought a means to define her thoughts with words, "Then you believe that the Force will – return to you and the twins?"  
"It never left the twins; but yes, in time, the Force will grow within them." His sad gaze transformed into a flickering image of his customary lopsided grin. "They're definitely going to be a handful."  
"What about you?"  
Anakin lowered his head. "I don't deserve to have it back." In one fluid motion, he slid off the bed and fell to his knees, holding her hand in both of his, praying that she could see his sincerity and his regret for what he was about to confess. "Padmé…you are my soul, my reason for being, and I love you more than anything. I only want you to know that everything I have done…I did it for you."

Padmé felt an all-too-familiar chill settle in her bones, and she suppressed a shiver. Staring into her husband's repentant and sorrowful face, she came to an unexpected realization – about Anakin, but most importantly about herself.  
"_How long is it going to take for us to be honest with each other?"  
_She had lived in this universe long enough to understand that the foundation of any relationship was honesty – and trust. Anakin trusted her implicitly. He had given her his heart – so strong and yet so utterly fragile – and he opened the door to his soul little by little every day since they were married. The callous existence of a slave and the emotional vacuum of the Jedi Order had taught him to hide – to deny the inner brilliance of his passionate nature. Yes, he trusted her…but years of witnessing the harshness of the galaxy trained him to be cautious, despite the painfully beautiful innocence in the adoring blue gaze he turned to her whenever she entered a room.  
They were more alike than they realized.  
Padmé's extensive education at the hands of prestigious tutors on Naboo had admonished her from the beginning to not let her heart overrule her common sense. She had a wonderful mind, they told her, and there was no limit to her potential… But she would never succeed in helping her people if she allowed the heart to sway her thinking. Her experiences with the Refugee Relief on Shadda-Bi-Boran served as a physical reminder of the danger of putting one's heart wholly into an occupation – or a person.

It was not that she was incapable of love – on the contrary, she cared so deeply for her parents, her sister Sola, and her little nieces Ryoo and Pooja that sometimes she felt as if her chest would explode from the pent-up emotion burgeoning within. She resolved to keep her focus on her work in the Senate to beat back the ever-increasing sense that she was slowly dying inside. And then Anakin came back into her life.  
The strong, fiery heart that she had imprisoned by duty and channeled into Senate debates was ignited by the young Padawan's attention. Whether he had done it purposefully or purely out of recognizing his own desires, Anakin's wordless whispers of what life could be roused her buried dreams, and she longed to draw closer. That night, sitting before the fireplace at the villa, her heart had begged her to say yes.  
Her common sense had won that battle.  
And now, here they were again – Anakin, preparing to bare his soul without knowing if she would grant him healing or more pain. And her – wondering if she had the strength to stand firm in her convictions…or submit to the dominion of her heart.

The wisp of thought floated across her mind with uncanny clarity.  
No matter the cost, Anakin was willing to risk losing her – all for the sake of honesty. Was she not willing to do the same? Padmé wanted to believe that she was always honest with her husband, but the taste of the lie burned bitterly on her tongue. She had not trusted him to tell him about the twins after their argument – and she had never told him how much it had grieved her when he left her standing on the veranda, the smoke coiling around the distant spires of the Jedi Temple. Anakin was ready to admit to all of the sins that Obi-Wan had heaped upon him during their guarded exchange yesterday, and although her mind yearned for justification – Padmé decided to listen to her heart.

Anakin gazed intently at his wife's small hands clasped within his own, savoring each precious second that he was allowed to touch her before his words damned him. Mustering the scraps of determination he still carried in his splintered heart, Anakin's chin rose as he forced himself to look into Padmé's liquid brown eyes. The words scalded his throat as they hovered there, unspoken, and his courage wilted momentarily. Internally, he reminded himself that she deserved his honesty – and he vowed that he would not let her blame herself for his fall into darkness. He opened his mouth…  
…And closed it a heartbeat later as Padmé's finger laid against his lips. Knowing compassion softened her expression, and she shook her head slightly. "No, Ani," she murmured tenderly, her eyes glowing with an ethereal light, "You don't have to tell me anything. Whatever you have done…it doesn't matter anymore." Her finger left his lips and traced the line of his jaw to brush the burnished gold locks from his forehead. "That's not who you are. This," She laid her palm over his heart, and he automatically covered it with his own, looking at her with the eyes of one who is afraid to hope for salvation. "This is who you are," Padmé quietly affirmed. "Anakin Skywalker – my husband and the father of my children. You're a good person, Anakin, and I trust you to take care of us. Knowing what you did will not change the fact that I love you." His blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, his hand trembling as he lifted hers to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, his intense gaze never wavering from her face.

"I love you," he whispered fervently. Padmé smiled at him with unabashed affection, just as the door chimed. Anakin gruffly cleared his throat, seeking to regain his emotional control. "It must be Artoo. He's probably wondering why I didn't plot a course to the settlement yet." He started for the door, his fingers sliding through Padmé's grasp with a gentle caress – when her grip tightened abruptly.  
He glanced quickly at her. "What?"  
Padmé's expression was as dazzling as the sunrise and twice as magnificent. Her gaze slowly drifted downwards, and then flew up to his puzzled stare, exclaiming joyfully, "They moved!"

------------

Obi-Wan was startled awake by an insistent buzzing that filled his ears like a swarm of crazed insects. He sat upright in the darkness, tangled in a thin blanket, as he struggled to separate dreams from reality. Bracing himself, Obi-Wan slapped the illumination controls beside his bunk and the cabin lights slowly flared to life. He rubbed his eyes groggily and took a deep breath, squinting in the bright light.  
The remnants of the visions he had received as he slept faded in and out of his memory; like droplets of dew on a cobweb, he knew what he had seen – but the images floated just out of reach.  
Except for the eyes. It was the one thing the Jedi Master recalled vividly – a child with Anakin's eyes.  
_It was only a dream, _Obi-Wan told himself, throwing his legs over the side of the bunk. In all likelihood his subconscious had concocted the dream in response to his brief touch with the Force and one of the unborn Skywalker twins. Naturally there was the chance that one of the children would inherit their father's crystalline blue eyes…and yet Obi-Wan's feelings whispered of significance in those sapphire orbs – of something else that was passed on to the heirs of the Chosen One…

The buzzing suddenly seemed to rise in volume, and Obi-Wan sighed heavily, his weary body protesting as he climbed to his feet. Stumbling to the doorway, he pressed a button on the control panel and the door slid aside, accompanied by a flurry of high-pitched whistles and tweets. Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut in agony as the noise sent a throb of pain into his head. "Artoo?"  
The little blue and white astromech droid chirped in reply while Obi-Wan inhaled slowly, concentrating on driving away the sensation that his skull was being cleaved in two. "What are you doing here?" he asked.  
The warbling melody was punctuated by loud beeps and clicks, and the Jedi Master followed enough of the droid's language to understand that the ship had entered the Polis Massa system. "All right," Obi-Wan said, his voice hoarse from sleeping, and grabbed his tunic from a nearby chair. "I'll contact Port Control and get us clearance to land, but Anakin will have to pilot the ship in; I have no exp-" Artoo interrupted with a sharp trill, his domed head rotating to look down the corridor. Obi-Wan straightened his tunic and followed Artoo's gaze, commenting mildly, "Anakin said that he would plot a course but he hasn't left the suite yet? We can't just drift in space – Padmé needs to see a doctor. Besides, if their subspace scanners detect us floating here they might think we are a threat, and that would not go well at all."  
With that said, Obi-Wan yanked on his boots and marched down the hall towards the master suite, Artoo rolling behind with a soft "ooh" of worry. Obi-Wan touched the announcer button and waited, glancing sidelong at the little droid. "Go plot the course, Artoo. Anakin and I will be there shortly."

Artoo whistled in agreement and trundled slowly around the corner, heading for the cockpit. Obi-Wan heard snatches of muffled conversation coming from within the suite, but he decided to be patient and resisted the urge to press the announcer again. He felt the ship's engines shudder as power increased, and a delighted squeal filtered through the door, followed by Anakin's unmistakable cackle. Obi-Wan felt a stab of annoyance that cancelled out any sense of embarrassment. They did not have time for this.  
He pressed the button again, keeping it down with his thumb for a few seconds longer than necessary.

------------

Anakin stared at his wife in amazement, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and dancing brown eyes. Quick as a flash, he was beside her on the bed, and she guided his flesh hand to the spot on her rounded belly where she had felt the movement. They sat there in gleeful anticipation, until the small thump made them both jump in surprise. Their eyes met, and Padmé let out a squeal of pure delight as all of her pent-up anxiety fled from their shared joy. Anakin laughed boisterously at his wife's reaction and with glad relief. He could have sat there for hours enjoying Padmé's closeness and the movements of their little hopes – but apparently Artoo had other plans. The door chimed again, ringing continually for a few seconds. Anakin sighed in exasperation, but Padmé nudged him to his feet, saying practically, "I still need to get checked out. Go see what Artoo wants."  
He reluctantly stood and headed for the door, flashing her a lopsided grin that made him look like an overeager little boy before he pressed the door release, ready to scold Artoo for his impatience –  
Except that Artoo was not at the door.

Instead, the stern, bearded face of Obi-Wan Kenobi appeared in the doorway, and Anakin actually took a step back in surprise – and perhaps a twinge of awkward guilt. Obi-Wan could still make him feel like a disobedient child with just one look. Anakin stifled the feeling with indignance. He was not breaking any rules – not anymore. "Yes?" he said, a bit too abrasively.  
Obi-Wan's eyebrow quirked slightly, regarding the younger man in silence before remarking in a serene tone, "Your presence is requested in the cockpit." He peered over Anakin's shoulder and saw Padmé staring incredulously at her husband's back from her place on the edge of the bed. Deftly, the Jedi Master sidestepped his former apprentice and entered the suite. "How are you feeling?" he asked her gently.  
Padmé beamed, and the expression lit up her exhausted face. "We felt them move, just a minute ago," she breathed cheerfully, a hand resting on her middle.  
He returned her smile, happy that the worry had left her slim frame, but he experienced a muted sense of hesitation. Should he tell Padmé and Anakin that he had known their children were all right because he had sensed them with the Force? He glanced back at Anakin and saw the stormcloud of emotions gathering on his face and decided that now was not the time for this particular discussion.

Obi-Wan turned back to Padmé and replied kindly, "That's wonderful news, Padmé. Now, I'm afraid Anakin and I are needed in the cockpit so we can bring this ship in for a landing."  
"Of course," Padmé nodded, but a flicker of indecision passed across her dark eyes as her gaze moved from the Jedi Master to her husband. Obi-Wan timidly stretched out with his limited perception and tried to discern the source of Padmé's reservations. He secretly rejoiced when he brushed her mind in the Force, and although it was much like viewing the universe through one tiny window – he did gain some understanding. She did not want to send Anakin off with him while he was fighting so obviously with his self-imposed defiance. She worried that even the smallest miscalculation would send her husband careening backwards into the shadows.  
Obi-Wan inclined his head towards her, silently conceding to her unspoken argument. "I'll give you a few minutes to prepare. Anakin," he fixed the younger man with a firm blue-grey stare, "join me in the cockpit when you are ready." Anakin's glare flashed blue fire, but he nodded curtly as he caught his wife's concerned face out of the corner of his eye. The Jedi Master exited the suite, and Anakin shut the door as soon as Obi-Wan crossed the threshold. He leaned against the doorframe, head bent, his back to Padmé as the lingering tentacles of dark side energies provoked his emotions.

Padmé saw the tension in his broad shoulders, and called softly, "Ani." He slowly spun to face her, conflict written on his pained expression. She opened her arms in silent invitation, beckoning him to her. Anakin strode forward and knelt, folding his arms over her knees and resting his head on her lap. The crown of his head touched the swell of her abdomen, and he sensed a flicker of movement as Padmé began to tenderly stroke his hair. Anakin's eyes slid closed as her soothing ministrations calmed his stirring temper. He knew that he had lashed out at Obi-Wan because anger was his natural reaction to fear. He was afraid for his wife. The arrival of their twins was fast approaching – even though Padmé had assured him that she had a few weeks to go, there was something about this place that jittered a warning in the back of his brain. As if he had been here before…  
He sighed gratefully as Padmé's fingertips threaded through his tousled locks, brushing the curl of his ear. The sharp needles of helplessness burying themselves into his muscles were dulled by her caresses, and Anakin moved closer, pressing himself against her legs. "I don't know what I'd do without you." The throaty whisper left his mouth, his face buried in his arms, and Padmé's hand paused fractionally.

Her slender fingers cupped his chin and gently forced him to look at her. "We've been through this. I trust you to protect us, Anakin," she said with quiet firmness. "You have to let go of your fear."  
"But I can't use the Force, Padmé." The anguish in his blue eyes broke her heart. "I can't protect you from something that I can't fight." His hand wrapped around hers, pressing her palm to his cheek.  
"I can't lose you. I can't lose _any_ of you."  
So it was back to the nightmare again. Padmé closed her eyes, feeling defeated. Anakin was convinced that the Force sought to take away everything he loved. It had taken his mother after he had been tormented by visions of her pain for weeks, and now he believed that every nightmare he had was a premonition of the future. Padmé refused to accept that. She could not believe that a person's life is determined solely by predestination – it went against everything she had experienced in her lifetime.  
She swallowed back an emotional retort and thought hard. Anakin needed her cool logic to ease his fear.  
And then she had it – the key to the constricting chains Anakin had wrapped himself in by listening to false counsel and his terror of failing her.

"You told me once that the future is difficult to see because it is always in motion. So how can you be so certain that your nightmares will come true? I'm not talking about what happened to your mother," she cut him off as he opened his mouth to speak, "I'm talking about what's happening right now. You just finished explaining to me how you and Obi-Wan were cut off from the Force, and that it created ripples throughout the universe." Her dark eyes sparkled with triumph. "Isn't there the possibility that those ripples have changed the future as well?"  
Anakin blinked. He had never thought of it that way. Yoda had told him numerous times to be careful when sensing the future, but Anakin had always assumed that he grasped a clearer picture than other Jedi because of his exceptional strength in the Force, and his dreams. He had heard stories within the Temple of Jedi who had glimpsed the future and tried to change it – and ended up either causing the event that they wanted desperately to avoid, or made it worse.  
If Padmé was right, then the future was not a fixed moment in time, and every second leading to it influenced its outcome. And if the legends in the Jedi Order were true, and Anakin continued to act upon his visions of a clouded future…he could end up _causing_ his beloved Padmé's death.  
Anakin shivered, and nuzzled his face into her palm. No, that would never happen. Her reasoning still had one major flaw.

"I saw my mother suffering, Padmé. I dreamt about it for weeks – and when I went to save her, she died in my arms." The memory of watching that bright, lively spark leave Shmi Skywalker's brown eyes had created a gaping hole in Anakin's heart. "How can you say that my nightmares about you won't come true?"  
Padmé knew that what she was about to relay would hurt him deeply, but he needed to understand. "Did you see your mother's death in your nightmares?" He shook his head, looking away. "You only saw her pain, and of course, you wanted to save her because you loved her. But Ani…" She steeled herself and continued, "If you had not gone to Tatooine…would she still have died? The neighboring moisture farms had sent out search parties – they may have found the camp and rescued her."  
"They were _torturing_ her, Padmé!" Anakin cried out, voice breaking. "She was barely alive when I found her!" He did not want to acknowledge that her words rang of truth, for that would mean his worst fears had been realized.  
"She was holding on for _you_, Anakin – she wanted to see you again." Tears stood in Padmé's large dark eyes. "And when she saw you in that tent, alive and well and on the threshold of your dreams…she gave up."

Seeing the sadness in his wife's gaze destroyed Anakin's ire over her words, and all he felt was overwhelming grief. "You think that…if I hadn't gone to her…if I had waited – my mother would still be alive." The last word was nearly lost in a choked sob, and he pulled away from her, walking to the far corner of the suite. He was trembling violently, his arms crossed tightly across his chest.  
Padmé's voice shook, and she tasted salt on her lips as she said, "I don't know what would have happened, Ani. I don't pretend to understand the Force or why you have these dreams. I just want you to see that our future is not decided. _We_ – you and I – have the power to change it. Together."  
Wincing as hot jabs of pain knifed into her body, Padmé pushed herself to her feet and walked over to her young husband. He jerked when she enfolded him in her arms, but to her relief he did not push her away.  
"You are so used to carrying the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders – you've forgotten that you're only human." She looked up at him, studying his profile and the stiff line of his jaw, and added softly, "You don't have to do this on your own."

Anakin felt the thick armor of his pride crack, and he returned Padmé's embrace – his face finding its habitual spot above her collarbone. Once more, he marveled at the twist of fate that had allowed this angel to fall in love with him, and mold her love around the pieces of his fractured soul. He knew that she was right – even without the Force; he sensed the truth of her words deep within his being. His hands pressed against the small of her back, urging her body closer until the curve of her stomach pushed into his ribcage. Her wisdom humbled him, and shamed the combined insight of the venerated Jedi Council.  
In a collection of sentences, Padmé had unraveled a great mystery, and helped him recognize facets of his character. What he had told her earlier was genuine: he did not know what he would do without her.  
Anakin slowly raised his head and gazed down into his wife's beautiful face, resting his hands on her waist and smiled. It was a smile that Padmé had never seen on his handsome face. His expression radiated such…_peace_, and his eyes captured her with a smoky stare that she remembered well. Before she willingly fell into the blueness, Padmé reminded, "Obi-Wan is waiting for you."  
Instead of an irritated frown, Anakin merely sighed in resignation, his smile fading into a half-hearted smirk, as he made no effort to move. Padmé chuckled under her breath, placing her palms on his chest as she rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Go on, now," she ordered affably, giving him a gentle shove. Rolling his eyes, Anakin marched over to a small bureau built into the suite's wall and opened the bottom drawer. Digging through a compartment that for all intents and purposes contained an assortment of silk wraps and fur stoles, he uncovered a neatly folded dark brown tunic and pants. Since he could rarely predict when and where he might see his wife away from the prying stares of the galaxy, Padmé had agreed to stash Jedi uniforms at several locations – including this skiff and the Lake Country villa on Naboo.

He quickly shed the ruined nightrobe and donned the outfit he had worn continually for over three years – the uniform of a Jedi Knight. He slowed as he straightened the folds of his tunic. He was no longer a Jedi – not after what he had done at the Temple. He was not sure _what_ he was anymore. But at least the clothes were dry, and were not marred by blaster scorch marks or flecks of blood. Anakin tugged on his boots and stood to see Padmé waiting in his immediate line of sight, holding a utility belt in her hands.  
He took it from her with a wordless nod of thanks and buckled it around his waist. "Better?" he asked, a teasing glint in his cerulean eyes.  
Pursing her lips mock-seriously, Padmé ambled closer and smoothed out his tunic, pinching the fabric here and there. "Perfect," she declared, fluffing the burnished blond tresses on his forehead.  
In response, Anakin lifted her heavy curls and arranged them around her shoulders, framing smooth cheeks that had lost their pallor and were now tinted with a vivacious rosy hue.  
"Perfect." His deep voice sent a shiver racing down her spine, and his fingers curled lightly around the nape of her neck, bringing his head down for a kiss.  
Tilting her chin, Padmé waited until she could feel his breath on her lips and then grinned impishly, "Go see Obi-Wan." Anakin groaned in exasperation, glaring at her with half-lidded eyes.  
"You love doing that, don't you?"  
Her brows rose in a picture of childlike innocence. "It's not every day I get to see you squirm."

Anakin's blue eyes flashed with a roguish gleam, and caught her in his arms, kissing her passionately. When Padmé felt as if she had melted into a puddle on the suite floor, he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers as he murmured huskily, "We can fix that." She wriggled in his firm embrace, struggling to catch her breath as she blushed over his statement. Anakin loosened his hold and she scurried back a few steps, her gaze silently rebuking him for his boldness, but he knew that she had teased him purposefully.  
The skiff suddenly yawed to the side, and Padmé fell into Anakin's broad chest with a gasp. He snickered and shook his head in amazement. "And he calls _me_ impatient."  
Anakin caressed Padmé's upper arms and softly promised, "I'll be back." Then he swung around and headed out into the corridor, his long strides carrying him swiftly to the cockpit. He tried to hold onto the sense of carefree happiness his time with Padmé had given him as he neared. He would not permit Obi-Wan to bury him with guilt anymore. He took care of that on his own.

------------

Artoo wailed as the skiff's momentum sent him rolling to the opposite side of the cockpit.  
Obi-Wan stabilized the craft with practiced ease, and the little astromech wheeled back towards the main console, buzzing a reprimand at the Jedi Master. He ignored the droid, wondering instead over the lack of emotional control he exhibited in causing the ship to lurch. While it was sure to get Anakin's attention, it was an action that Obi-Wan would not have even considered before – in fact, it was exactly the kind of thing Anakin himself would do.  
With that disquieting thought tumbling in his head, Obi-Wan set the skiff back on autopilot as he heard pounding footfalls echoing from the corridor. Artoo's dome swiveled around and whistled a greeting as Anakin breezed into the cockpit, garbed in a fresh Jedi uniform that was tailored in his distinctive style.  
_So he _has_ learned to plan ahead, _Obi-Wan remarked to himself. Of course, preserving the secrecy of a forbidden marriage would no doubt stretch anyone's contingency tactics to the limit.

His old friend looked every bit like the dashing Jedi Knight whose face was splashed daily over the HoloNet. A face that was oddly expressionless as Anakin settled into the pilot's seat and flipped off the autopilot. Obi-Wan studied him surreptitiously. He had expected another outburst similar to the younger man's behavior towards him in the master suite – but, as always, Anakin remained impossible to predict. The Jedi Master sent out the tiniest tendril of Force energy that he could muster, testing a theory that he had been mulling over in his mind.  
His theory was correct.  
The Force told him that Anakin just _wasn't there_; nothing was sitting in that chair but empty space.  
Obi-Wan did not even sense the faintest hint of his essence at all. It was not like Anakin had died…no, it was like Anakin had disappeared altogether.  
Chilled, Obi-Wan withdrew his perception and continued to scrutinize his former Padawan's face. His gaze was intent on the star-strewn blackness of space outside the viewport as he guided the skiff past slow-moving asteroids towards the colony. Other than that, Anakin's entire countenance was opaque to the Jedi Master, with no visible display of what he was feeling or thinking – Padmé's political coaching, he assumed.

"You keep staring and your eyeballs are going to freeze open," Anakin said offhandedly.  
Obi-Wan blinked, his brow wrinkling in annoyance. "I was not staring." He realized how childish that sounded after the fact, and added gruffly, "And who told you that ridiculous notion about eyeballs freezing open?"  
"You."  
Anakin bit the inside of his cheek to keep back a grin as Obi-Wan huffed and rotated his chair, pointedly showing his back to him. He watched a chunk of rock roughly the size of a Trade Federation control ship lazily spin past the viewport and caught sight of several bubble-shaped buildings grouped together on the surface on an enormous asteroid in the distance. The proximity sensors hummed, and Anakin slowed the skiff's approach, glancing sideways. "We've been detected."

Obi-Wan activated the comm and spoke in an authoritative tone, "Polis Massa Port Control, this is Naboo Star Skiff. Do you copy?"  
The comm speaker crackled, and a polite voice replied, "We copy, Star Skiff. Do you require assistance?"  
Obi-Wan smiled humorlessly. "Indeed we do, Port Control. All humanoids on board could use medical attention, and we are in sore need of a place to rest."  
"We will accommodate your requests to the best of our ability. If you will please transmit your ship's identification code, we will direct you to the hangar bay."  
Now came the hard part. "I regret that I am unable to provide you with our ID code – you see, this skiff could very well be an escapee of the Empire." Obi-Wan put in the right amount of earnest appeal in his words to gain the controller's sympathy. He could only hope that it was working.  
There was a short pause, and then the voice came through hesitantly, "I am afraid that we cannot –"  
Obi-Wan fluidly interrupted, "If you would permit me to speak to Administrator Tuun, I am sure that he would sanction our presence here."  
Again, the hesitation was evident by the silence on the comm. "One moment."

Obi-Wan thumbed the mute button and looked over his shoulder at Anakin, who was watching the exchange with guarded eyes, his whole body tensed. "After I speak to the Administrator, they will let us land in the private hangar on the southern side of the colony," he assured the younger man. "We shall have limited contact with other workers and the Empire will stay ignorant of our movements." A trace of skepticism flickered in Anakin's hooded blue gaze, but it vanished as the comm hissed and he sucked in a sharp breath.  
"This is Administrator Maneeli Tuun." This voice was considerably more mature than the controller's, and more confident. "I understand that you wanted to speak with me."  
Obi-Wan took a deep breath, releasing his fear to the Force, and turned off the mute. "Administrator, this is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I am in need of your help."  
A soft noise issued from the comm – almost like a sigh. "What can I do for you, Master Kenobi?"  
Anakin slumped in utter relief in his chair, but Obi-Wan was still cautious, even though Tuun's answer freed a massive burden from his spirit. "There are three humans on board, myself included, that require medical aid and a temporary haven from the Empire's fleet. We will not stay long; I do not wish to prolong the time that this outpost may be in danger – but our female passenger is six months pregnant and we cannot risk the journey to another MedCenter."

Tuun replied without reluctance. "The Polis Massans are honored to be counted as friends of the Jedi. Pilot your skiff to the coordinates that are being transmitted to you now and land in the hangar. My finest team of physicians and med droids will meet you there."  
"Thank you, Administrator," Obi-Wan said with heartfelt gratitude, and signed off. He leaned back in his seat and rolled his shoulders, easing the tension from his muscles. An indicator light blinked on the console, and he punched the receive button. "Coordinates are locked," he stated. His eyes met Anakin's for a fleeting second, and then Anakin averted his gaze as he pointed the skiff's curved nose toward the colony, stars glittering in its wake.

------------

Aboard the Star Destroyer _Subjugator_, Bridge Commander ARC-5219 – also known as Kaph – looked out at the twinkling sphere of Coruscant, isolated from the frenzied activity around officers worked frantically to contact HQ on the planet while navigators scanned hundreds of star charts, attempting to pinpoint the location of their "ghost ship."  
That was what Kaph had heard one of the raw recruits tell another after the vessel had blasted out from under them and slipped into hyperspace. Like a ghost, it had appeared and disappeared before most of his crew could blink. Superstition aside, Kaph was ordered to report any and all craft entering or departing the capital, although a more accurate description of the ship would lend greater credibility to his information.

So Kaph stood motionless before the main viewport, studying the far-off stars and placing himself outside of the situation as his ARC training had taught. He reviewed the facts over and over in his head and began to reach a valid hypothesis. The _Ghost_, as it was labeled on the trajectory board, had drifted into the _Subjugator's_ shadow on minimum power. Thus, the pilot had known of the limited sensoring capabilities on a Star Destroyer's underbelly, and that meant military experience.  
Secondly, the same pilot had coordinated a jump to lightspeed at a breakneck pace – a feat that was extremely risky, because performing a calculated jump without confirmation from a navicomputer could send a ship on a one-way trip through a gas giant. Therefore, this pilot had to rely on other senses – senses that exceeded the ordinary, and that meant only one thing.  
Jedi.

Kaph spun on heel and strode towards the communications blister, pondering his conclusion.  
It made sense – only a Jedi would have had the knowledge and skill to execute such a maneuver with success. So now the question was: Where would this Jedi be going?  
He analyzed the trajectory board as his navigators worked nervously around him. From the _Ghost's_ last known coordinates, the ship could be bound for any number of worlds, some of which were known to have significance to the Order. Determining the ship's design would have been useful in identifying its destination, but the sensors were lucky to have picked up the vessel at all. The thought processes of the Jedi eluded Bridge Commander Kaph – their decisions flip-flopped between logical and absurd at random, and they were based entirely on the mysterious "Force." There were no patterns, no standardized procedures – a fleet could chase one Jedi around all four corners of the galaxy and never find what they were looking for.

"Sir!" A sergeant ran up to him. "Sir, we've reestablished communications with the planet."  
Kaph bypassed the sergeant without a word and marched over to the console. The officer stationed at the terminal flipped a sequence of switches, then nodded and gave the commander a thumbs-up.  
"This is Bridge Commander Kaph of the Imperial Star Destroyer _Subjugator_. I have a Priority One message for Commander Cody of High Command."

------------

The sleek silver skiff entered the vacant hangar bay and settled effortlessly on its landing struts.  
Obi-Wan peered curiously out of the viewport at the small cluster of individuals waiting at the far end. "Our welcoming committee," he announced to no one in particular. He lowered the boarding ramp as Anakin scrambled out of the pilot's chair and jogged down the corridor, yelling something about Padmé. Obi-Wan leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling with a deep sigh, suppressing his irritability of the younger man's impetuous nature. He should be used to it by now.  
The Jedi Master began shutting down all systems, and then spoke in a low murmur to the astromech unit at his elbow. "Artoo, before you shut down main power, delete our course from the navicomputer and activate all security programs." The little droid beeped an affirmative and got to work. Patting Artoo on his domed head – another silly gesture he had picked up from Anakin – Obi-Wan exited the cockpit, moving in the general direction of the skiff's ramp.

As he rounded a corner he came upon his former Padawan, who was trying to placate an overly excited golden protocol droid. "Threepio, it's fine," Anakin was saying soothingly. "I know you were just following your programming, but we're among friends now."  
"But Master Anakin, their species is not entered in my databank! Surely you can understand how distressed I became!" Threepio sounded like he was on the verge of hysterics. "Perhaps if you had updated my recognition memory I would not have proceeded to initiate my defense procedures!"  
Anakin replied softly, yet his eyes were hard, "I said it's fine, Threepio, don't worry. Now, go inform Padmé that we have guests and pack up some of her personal items as she instructs."  
Threepio waddled off to carry out his appointed duty, and Anakin watched him go, his flesh hand rubbing the back of his neck in a long-suffering motion. He saw Obi-Wan out of the corner of his eye and his mouth quirked into a funny half-smile. "I guess I made him a little _too_ cautious."  
"Among other things," Obi-Wan retorted mildly. He gestured at Threepio's retreating form, asking, "What was that about?"  
Anakin raked his hand through his tousled blonde hair. "Well…Threepio was walking through here when the boarding ramp lowered, and when he didn't recognize the Polis Massans he overreacted and pressed the emergency lock button."  
Obi-Wan's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "So he effectively shut the door in their faces." Anakin nodded sheepishly. "I'll talk to them," Obi-Wan said wearily, "I'm certain they will understand our restlessness in light of our current situation." Anakin pressed the release mechanism on the wall and the ramp hissed as it opened, depressurizing the corridor. Obi-Wan took a few steps down the ramp, arms held out wide in a universal gesture of friendship and called out, "Administrator Tuun, it's good to see you."

Anakin stared, his jaw dropping. He snapped it closed quickly, but his blue eyes were wide as he glimpsed the Polis Massans. Administrator Tuun was about the height of an average human, bipedal, and with two arms – but that was where the similarities ended. They had mottled green, vaguely reptilian skin, long fingers with overlarge, rounded tips, and appeared to be wearing various types of environment suits.  
But what disconcerted Anakin the most was that their faces were blank – literally.  
White, oval-shaped faces with a pair of small black eyes looked up at him inquisitively, and he resisted the bizarre urge to disappear into the skiff and hide from those strangely empty faces. Obi-Wan seemed unaffected by the Polis Massans' unusual features, and he walked right up to the Administrator, clasping his hand warmly. Tuun wore a tan-colored hood around his head and neck, and a faintly metallic-sounding voice filtered to Anakin's ears.  
"I am greatly relieved that you escaped the tragedy at the Jedi Temple, Master Kenobi. Tell me, do you know if Master Yoda is safe as well?"  
Anakin perked up, feeling a mixture of happiness and incredulity. Of course Yoda was alive – he had to be. Like Obi-Wan, Yoda was too smart and too accomplished to fall victim to Order 66. A flicker of confusion wrinkled his forehead. Not two days ago, Anakin had played a part in the extermination of the Jedi…and now he was _glad_ that the most powerful Master in the Order was still alive?  
_Perhaps you don't know yourself as well as you think you do._

He ignored the small voice in the back of his head as Obi-Wan answered quietly, "I…believe so. We have not been in contact with each other for fear of being discovered."  
Tuun rested a large hand on the Jedi Master's shoulder. "Rest easy, my friend. You will be safe here."  
Anakin heard movement behind him and turned to see Padmé standing beside Threepio, her slim fingers gripping the droid's stiff arm for support. "Padmé," he rushed forward and wrapped an arm around her waist. "You shouldn't be up."  
She leaned heavily against him, but her brown eyes sparked as she replied, "I'm not helpless, Ani."  
He gave her a small lopsided grin. "I know better than to argue with you."  
The young couple shared a secretive smile, and were reminded that they had an audience as a floating med droid zoomed up the ramp, guiding a silvery hoverchair. "Please sit down, madam," the droid said in a pleasant feminine voice. Padmé settled into the chair with Anakin's help, sighing in relief as the weight was removed from her aching legs. She glided down the ramp, Anakin and the med droid on either side of her as Threepio shuffled behind, calling for Artoo to hurry up.

Obi-Wan and Administrator Tuun met them at the bottom, and Anakin watched his wife's reaction to the Polis Massans. Her diplomatic training smoothed her features into a polite smile, but he caught the brief flash of shock in her gaze at the Administrator's approach. Obi-Wan started the introductions. "Administrator Maneeli Tuun, this is Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo."  
Padmé extended her hand and Tuun took it in both of his. His long fingers completely covered her hand, but his grasp was surprisingly gentle. "It is indeed an honor to meet you, Milady. Stories of your integrity and compassion are well known in the Outer Rim. And I offer my congratulations for your offspring."  
"Thank you, Administrator – for your welcome and your kind words." Padmé seemed slightly surprised that news of her deeds traveled throughout the galaxy, yet she offered Tuun a warm smile.  
Anakin flushed with pride. Padmé had become an angel to many beings in the Republic during the war, but she would always be _his_ angel.  
"And this," Obi-Wan continued, "is Anakin Skywalker." Anakin glanced sharply at the older man, but Obi-Wan was composed as he gestured in his direction. He had purposefully left the title "Jedi Knight" out of Anakin's introduction and it stung. The sensation was immediately followed by resigned sorrow.  
Obi-Wan had not taken that identity away from him – he had thoughtlessly cast it aside by swearing an oath to Darth Sidious. He felt Padmé's eyes on him, so he tried to emulate her tactful behavior as Tuun reached for his hand.

"Jedi Skywalker – yes, tales of your adventures have thrilled our colony many times. I must confess that some of your exploits become more…_sensational_ with each telling. Tell me – did you _really_ land half of a Separatist Star Cruiser in the middle of Galactic City?"  
Anakin looked straight into Tuun's blank white face and tacked on his famous lopsided smile. "Yes, I did." He shook Tuun's hand briskly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Administrator. And thank you for allowing us to land."  
The Administrator waved away his gratitude. "It is the least we can do for the Jedi." He motioned for a pair of med droids to come forward. "MD-02 and 05 will escort you to the Maternity ward, Milady. They will take very good care of you." The droids bobbed in the air as they flanked Padmé's hoverchair and began steering her towards the door. She threw an anxious look over her shoulder at Anakin and he sprang forward – only to be stopped by Obi-Wan's outstretched arm.  
"She will be all right, Anakin. You need to see to your own injuries first." Obi-Wan said all of this calmly, and for the first time since he had discovered their relationship, the Jedi Master felt a twinge of sympathy for the younger man. He stared after his wife until the door slid shut behind her, wearing a forlorn expression – as if something very precious had been wrested away from him. Anakin's cobalt gaze shifted to his former mentor, and Obi-Wan read the faint accusation in his eyes. He thought that Obi-Wan was punishing him in subtle, underhanded ways. First with his introduction to the Administrator, and now in separating him from his family.  
His eyes sharpened, becoming shards of blue glass that could cut through bone.

Obi-Wan met his glare unflinchingly, but inside his mind he realized that he may have made a grave mistake. While he could not pretend that there was a small part of him that thirsted for vengeance, it had not been his reason in holding Anakin back from joining Padmé. Both of them needed time for treatment and healing – time alone. Or so he had thought.  
Obi-Wan understood now that in seceding from the Force, Anakin had lost his psychological anchor.  
Like an uprooted tree in a windstorm, the young man had tumbled madly, thrown this way and that, until his awareness latched onto the second most important thing in his life – perhaps the one thing that prevailed over his relationship to the Force.  
The Jedi Master knew that he must rectify his actions at once or endanger the Chosen One's sanity.  
"Administrator Tuun," he began in his poised manner, "Is there perhaps a way for Anakin and I to see a med droid at the earliest convenience?"  
Obi-Wan could not tell if Tuun was contemplating Anakin's abrupt mood swing – his inky-black eyes gave nothing away, and Obi-Wan did not know enough about the Polis Massans to interpret their emotions. "Of course. I shall personally see you to an exam room immediately." He gestured for Obi-Wan to walk beside him and watched the Jedi Master hobble forward with the critical eye of a physician. "Would you like a hoverchair, Master Kenobi?"  
"No, thank you," Obi-Wan grunted and straightened his posture, drawing upon the Force as much as he could to ease the pain in his leg. "I'll be quite all right." He glanced over his shoulder and saw Anakin stalking along behind them, a fierce scowl on his face. Obi-Wan returned his attention to their host as the trio made their way into the facility.

The MedCenter was sterile and silent, except for the padded footsteps of a passing Polis Massan or the whirring servomotors of med droids. But instead of stoic white corridors, as was the case in the cloning chambers of Kamino, these halls seemed almost organic, reflecting muted lights of blues and greens. Occasionally, the bare walls were broken by rectangular viewports that displayed the everlasting dance of the asteroids. Obi-Wan had to admit that the overall ambiance was restful…in an alien sort of way.  
"We have the minimum amount of employees in this wing of our MedCenter," Tuun said quietly. "Few of my people will see you, or even become aware of your presence. The majority of your care will be handled by med droids – their memories are far easier to wipe."  
Obi-Wan nodded in agreement, gaining more respect for the Administrator. "I agree. There are some other precautions that I feel we must take before we leave. If I could speak to you later about this…?"  
Tuun inclined his head, stopping by a door that was nearly indistinguishable from the wall except for the small control panel built into it. The Administrator touched the panel and the door retracted into the ceiling, opening a small exam room with a white cot and a large computer panel on the opposite wall.  
"MD-01 will treat your injuries and then escort you to my private offices." The med droid floated inside and Obi-Wan slowly followed, hearing Tuun say, "Now, if you will please follow me, Jedi Skywalker."  
Then the door closed.

------------

Once Obi-Wan was tucked away in an exam room, Anakin trailed behind the Administrator, scanning the corridors feverishly. The desire to demand that Tuun take him to Padmé ran strong, but Anakin knew that to reveal their relationship at this time would not be wise. He might have to eventually, if the med droids would not let him visit his wife's room – especially if she went into labor.  
Thinking about the impending birth made fragments of his nightmare burst across his vision…but it was not as vivid as before. Parts of the images were hazy, like looking through fogged glass, and the heart-wrenching sound of her screams were muffled and distorted. But the fear had reawakened, and the need to see Padmé overcame his discretion as he asked, "Where's Pad– Senator Amidala?"

Tuun's hooded head turned slightly. "In the Maternity ward three corridors east of here."  
He paused beside another doorway, and before touching the panel, he regarded Anakin for a moment. "You need not worry for her, Jedi Skywalker," he said finally. "I assure you – she is receiving the very best care."  
"I know," Anakin hastily acquiesced, "It's just that…we're old friends, and I feel like I should look after her." Falling back into old habits of denial was hard, but if it would help him get to Padmé, Anakin would suffer through anything.  
Tuun slowly nodded, and the door opened to reveal a duplicate exam room. "MD-03 will take you to see the Senator after treatment." Without another word, the Administrator headed back down the hall as the silver med droid zipped into the room, asking that Anakin come inside and have a seat.  
He obeyed, the door closing as soon as he cleared the threshold, and hoisted himself onto the cot.  
The droid instructed him to lie back and remain motionless as the tissue scanner assessed his injuries, and Anakin complied, wishing it would be over soon so he could make sure that his angel was all right.


	13. Paradigm Shift: Intermezzo

**Chapter Nine  
**_**Paradigm Shift: Intermezzo**_

Padmé wondered if Ani was all right.  
The look on his face as she had been carted away by the med droids had plunged into her heart like a blade. He had scarcely left her side all during their flight, and she wanted to reassure him that she was healthy. The med droids assisted her in undressing, placing her soiled clothing in the waste container, and she shivered in the cooler air before a pristine white medical gown was draped around her body.  
"Now, Milady," MD-02 said in its comforting motherly voice, "We will assess your injuries and begin treatment before conducting some tests on your babies." During their initial questions, Padmé had informed the droids that she was carrying twins. The other med droid – MD-05, she believed – helped her sit down on the cot and exposed her wounded shoulder. Noting the bandaging Anakin had wrapped around the burned skin, MD-05 stated in a warm masculine tone, "Field dressing has been applied to the wound, along with a kolto patch. Have you taken any painkillers, Milady?"

"No," Padmé shook her head. "I know the risks of those drugs harming my babies." MD-05 pulled out of pair of surgical scissors and snipped through the gauze, and then slowly peeled it away. Padmé felt as if her shoulder was being rubbed with sand, and she pressed her lips tightly together to keep from moaning.  
MD-05 studied the wound for a moment, voicing an analysis. "Long-range blaster round into the left shoulder, most likely from a military-issue weapon. The bolt missed the clavicle and main arteries, and exited through the scapula, fracturing the bone." Padmé grimaced. A flesh wound healed easier and faster than skeletal damage. No wonder she was in so much pain. "Milady, I am going to give you a mild anesthetic to numb your shoulder and upper back, and then I will inject a chemical directly into the bone that will accelerate the regeneration process. It will not affect your offspring," MD-05 added after seeing her worried expression. "After that, we will repair the trauma to your skin and muscles."  
That said, MD-02 floated over to the cot, carrying a tray stocked with needles, swabs, and various other instruments. MD-05 picked up a smaller needle filled with a clear fluid and disappeared from her field of vision, until its' voice came from behind her. "I am going to administer the anesthetic now, Milady."  
Padmé squeezed her eyes shut as several jabs of the needle went into her back, shoulder, and part of her neck. Almost instantaneously, a strange tingling sensation consumed her entire shoulder, and no matter how much she concentrated, it refused to respond.

"Do you feel this, Milady?" MD-05 asked. She couldn't feel anything on that part of her body – it was like it wasn't there. She shook her head, stray ringlets of her dark hair hanging in front of her eyes.  
MD-02 then handed across the cot to MD-05 a long hollow needle containing a milky white substance, and Padmé felt her heart leap into her throat. The needle had to be as long as her forearm, and she knew that it was going to be pushed in all the way to her bone.  
Padmé gripped her gown in both fists and tried to take deep breaths, desperately wishing that Anakin were here with her. He would tell her in his deep, calming voice that everything would be all right, and then he would take her hand and rub the pad of his thumb over the skin. She imagined that he was there, right beside her, and the white-knuckled hands clenching her white gown loosened. She felt a slight pressure on her back, and she focused her mind on Ani's face – a face that she had memorized in great detail so that while he was away fighting in the war, she could pretend that he was with her.  
"All finished, Milady."

Padmé opened her eyes with surprise. MD-05 drifted around the cot and hovered by her knees, holding a large jar of pale, viscous fluid. "This is bacta, Milady. It is a revolutionary healing product imported from Chandrila." She nodded slightly. Her colleague in the Senate, Mon Mothma, had mentioned it before. "It has not yet been made available to the populace, but it vastly surpasses the curative properties of kolto." MD-05 opened the jar and dipped a swath of gauze into the bacta. The scent reminded Padmé of a lake in autumn – earthy and rich. Once the gauze was thoroughly coated, MD-05 lifted it out of the jar with tweezers and placed it expertly over the blaster wound. The med droid laid gauze on the front and back of her shoulder, completely covering the angry red blisters, and then wrapped a flesh-colored material around it. The material bonded immediately to her skin, and MD-05 explained, "This will keep the moisture from the bacta against the wound and allow the healing process to continue."  
MD-02 adjusted Padmé's medical gown so that her shoulder was covered, and then the med droid said, "If you will please stand, Milady, I will help you into the hoverchair so we can take you into the main examination room." Timidly, Padmé slipped her bare feet into a pair of thin slippers and pushed herself to her feet. She tottered to the hoverchair, lifting the hem of her white garment and sat down. Once she was settled, MD-02 guided the hoverchair as MD-05 led the way through a door opposite the one she had entered from the corridor. Padmé found herself in another corridor that was nearly an exact replica of all the others, except that this one had a row of curved transparisteel windows that framed a large room with an oval-shaped bed floating in the center. One entire wall was covered with panels and display boards that were lit up, waiting to receive data.

The hoverchair glided into the room, and Padmé found herself looking up at another droid – this one was fairly larger than the med droids, and its hands were spoon-shaped, with no finger-like digits. Its face was flat, with one blue eye and one green, and one was bigger than the other. But Padmé was not disturbed by the droid's appearance, even as it drifted forward and spoke softly in an alien dialect.  
"This is MW-001, our midwife droid," MD-05 clarified, "She is programmed only in the language of the Polis Massans, but she is very competent and will assist in the examination." Padmé merely nodded, feeling slightly overwhelmed. It seemed as if everything in this room was designed specifically for her. She knew that wasn't true – but it gave the impression that it was somehow…_appropriate_ that she was here at this MedCenter – a MedCenter that was part of a colony that she had never heard of before yesterday.  
MD-02 bade her to sit on the table and lay down, and Padmé did so, her distended stomach bulging the smooth white fabric. She felt the twins shift around and smiled briefly. She remembered the first time that she felt movement inside her, and her shock had swiftly mingled with joy as she stared down at the barely-visible bump. And the first time she had seen them on the display screen during an ultrasound and realized that she was going to have twins…

Padmé quickly turned her head sideways and asked MD-02, "Before you begin, MD-02, would it be possible for Jedi Skywalker to join me for the duration of the exam?"  
"I would like to grant your request, Milady… But the equipment in this room is very sensitive, and only an immediate family member is permitted to enter during an exam." The med droid said regretfully.  
"He is family," Padmé retorted without thinking. She almost gasped at her lack of prudence, but now that she could think clearly about their situation – did it matter? If the med droids and other medical staff were made aware of Anakin's standing as her husband, he would be allowed to attend all examinations, visit her room, and be with her during labor – if indeed she gave birth here.  
"Milady?" MD-02 was asking in puzzlement, pulling her out of her contemplation.  
Padmé looked straight at MD-02, brown eyes blinking seriously, and said the words that had been burning inside of her for four years. "He is family. He is my husband and my twins' father. Please have him brought here before you begin the examination."

MD-05 suddenly zoomed over to the bedside, speaking to MD-02. "The Administrator has confirmed the Senator's relation." MD-02 dipped its head and floated away as MD-05 addressed Padmé. "Jedi Skywalker is on his way, Milady."  
Padmé sighed gratefully and let her head roll back, closing her eyes with relief. She only hoped that Anakin was not upset that their secret was out.

------------

"A mild concussion, second-degree ion burn, bruised ribs, and a fractured tibia."  
Obi-Wan managed a weak grin. "Is that all?" He joked at the med droid.  
"Please lie back, Master Kenobi," MD-01 instructed calmly. Obi-Wan complied obediently, and fell inside himself as the droid chattered about mending his injuries, using this idle time to try and expand his awareness of the Force. He touched it easier than before, but its echo was faint and disjointed; like music that was playing through an old holoreader, he only caught broken strains of melody.  
He felt as if he floated inside of a bubble, and the currents of the universe flowed around him, carrying him to his destination – wherever it may be. But he could not touch the currents. Like the thin membrane of a bubble, something still held Obi-Wan back, placing boundaries on his consciousness.  
It was thoroughly frustrating.

In due course, MD-01 informed the Jedi Master that treatment had been successfully administered, and that it would be several days before the injury to his leg was fully healed. Then MD-01 said, "If you are well enough to travel, Master Kenobi, I will escort you to Administrator Tuun's private office."  
"Very well." Obi-Wan gingerly swung his legs over the side of the cot and stood, testing his balance on the lightweight cast the med droids had wrapped around his right calf. They had given him a set of white medical clothes consisting of a short-sleeved shirt and pants that tied around his waist, as well as a pair of flimsy slippers. The med droids had thrown his burnt and torn Jedi outfit into the waste and had offered to store his lightsaber in a secure locker within the Administrator's office. He had agreed – reluctantly.  
He wanted to demonstrate trust to their hosts. But he planned to retrieve the weapon from Tuun as soon as he was able. He sensed no immediate threat, but there was a…heaviness in the air, and it put him on edge.

Obi-Wan followed MD-01 through the door and down the corridor, turning left and right at seemingly random intersections until he felt as if the med droid was purposefully keeping him from memorizing the route. The corridors were abandoned, save for med droids and the occasional Polis Massan. The latter would slow as he approached and bow respectfully, and then continue on their way. Obi-Wan understood then that MD-01 was leading him through corridors that avoided the main sections of the MedCenter, ensuring that his presence remained a closely guarded secret.  
He strode down a short corridor that had only one door, situated at the far end. MD-01 halted a few meters away and gestured for Obi-Wan to continue, saying, "Administrator Tuun will be expecting you."  
Obi-Wan nodded his thanks and the droid zipped down the hall and out of sight. He walked towards the door, studying the alien writing engraved on the frame and, uncertain of what to do, touched a palm to the door. It was surprisingly warm, and as soon as his skin made contact, the door withdrew into the ceiling.

Tuun looked up from behind a translucent desk that hovered above the floor and called, "Come in, my friend." Obi-Wan stepped inside, the door closing behind him, and moved to the round chair across from Tuun. The Administrator typed on a keypad and a small display screen sank into the desk, and then he fixed Obi-Wan with unblinking black eyes. "How are you feeling?" he asked genially.  
"Better, thanks to your skilled med droids," Obi-Wan complimented, shifting in his seat. "But I'm afraid that I may not have much time for healing. There are some matters we must discuss before-"  
"Forgive me for interrupting, Master Kenobi," Tuun said, "But I have a matter to bring to your attention right away."  
Obi-Wan's stomach clenched, and he gripped the arms of his chair, fighting to keep his expression neutral as he replied, "Go on."  
"It seems that Senator Amidala is requesting that Jedi Skywalker be present during our examination of her offspring. In accordance to our policy, only an immediate family member is granted that right." Tuun leaned forward. "She has insisted that Jedi Skywalker is her husband."  
The Jedi Master silently looked at the Administrator for a full minute, and then sat back wearily, running a hand over his eyes. Tuun said quietly, "I do not ask for explanations – what I do ask for is the truth. Can you confirm that he is the Senator's husband?" Obi-Wan closed his eyes behind the cover of his raised hand and sighed. His precautions for their safety would have to be severely modified. The Administrator had already stated that the med droids' memories would be wiped, but now records would need to be destroyed, data erased…every insignificant detail of their stay here must be eliminated. Except for Tuun himself.

Obi-Wan lowered his hand and stared at the Polis Massan. He suspected that Tuun had no idea how much danger he was putting himself into by attaining this knowledge.  
He affirmed in a low voice, "Yes…Anakin is her husband."  
At once, Tuun punched keys on his desktop and the computer chirruped, indicating that the information had been sent. He then folded his large hands and gazed at Obi-Wan with a slightly tilted head. "I know that what you have endured these past few days are horrors that I cannot begin to imagine. I know that I cannot prove to you that I am trustworthy. But know this – I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to guarantee the protection of this information."  
Obi-Wan nodded, letting a tendril of Force energy brush against Tuun's essence. The alien psyche reminded the Jedi Master of a deep pool – unfathomable and mysterious. But he did sense the familiar flavor of empathy from the Administrator, as well as the genuine desire to aid them in any way he could.  
He pulled away from the Force and gave a small smile. "I believe you. But I am afraid that this information could place you personally in danger. We must take every preventative measure to delete all tangible evidence of our sojourn at this MedCenter – but the mind is far more complicated."  
Tuun nodded seriously. "As I said, I will do everything in my power to safeguard this knowledge. Anything you suggest will be done." He called up a trio of display screens and gestured to each one as he spoke. "I have access to the Port Control archives, medical records, and the colony mainframe. Where do we begin?"

Obi-Wan blinked. Tuun was giving him – a wanted fugitive of the Empire – direct access to the main computer, a feat that may get him arrested or killed. "Administrator," he said hesitantly. "While I am deeply appreciative of all you have done and are prepared to do…I must ask you a question." He paused for a moment, wondering how to voice his thoughts. "Why do you feel so indebted to the Jedi?"  
Tuun looked at him, unblinking, his stark white face in sharp contrast to the fabric of his hood.  
He answered in a tone that overlaid a myriad of emotions. "I have seen one lone Jedi stand between countless innocents and oblivion with no care for his own life, and I have seen that same Jedi pass on his selfless devotion to many generations." Tuun opened a compartment in his desk and held out Obi-Wan's lightsaber, the metallic hilt glittering in the wan light. "The Jedi are a light that must never be extinguished, Obi-Wan Kenobi. That is why I will do whatever is necessary to preserve that light."  
Obi-Wan gazed at the Administrator with an indefinable expression, and slowly took his lightsaber from Tuun's long-fingered hand.

------------

Anakin followed the med droid down the corridor with barely restrained glee. He was going to see Padmé! He had no idea what story she had concocted to allow him to see her, but he did not care. MD-03 had cleaned and dressed the cut on his temple and declared that he was otherwise healthy, except for obvious physical signs of fatigue and stress. The droid had persistently told him to change into the medical clothes, and he had complied, if only to get him to shut up.  
After he had folded his tunic and pants, asking that they keep the outfit in storage, Anakin wondered idly where he had left his lightsaber. With a shrug, he figured that it was probably on the skiff.  
They entered an empty corridor with a long row of transparisteel windows, and through them Anakin could see his angel, lying on a floating table with droids hovering around her. She turned her head, beaming as she saw him. The med droid paused at the doorway and motioned him inside, saying, "Please go in, Jedi Skywalker. The exam of your wife has not yet begun."  
Anakin felt his lungs seize up. His heart thundered in his ears, and MD-03 drifted away even as he stood there in utter stupefication. _What did he say?_

The door whooshed open, and another med droid greeted him, motioning him inside. "Please come inside, Jedi Skywalker." He walked in a daze, heading directly for Padmé. When he stood beside her, looking down into her dark eyes, her smile faded.  
"Don't be angry with me," she pleaded softly, taking his flesh hand. "I wanted you to be here for this, and this was the only way you would be allowed inside."  
When he heard her voice, Anakin seemed to snap out of his daze. His blue eyes shone with warmth, and he gently squeezed her hand. "I'm not angry. I was just…surprised. I'm not used to being called that in public." He bent closer, and his lips brushed hers as he spoke. "But it was wonderful to hear." He gave her a brief kiss and then straightened as MD-02 floated to the bedside.  
"If you will step back for a moment, Jedi Skywalker." He slowly backed away towards the display wall, keeping his gaze locked on Padmé. "Now," MD-02 addressed her, "please remain still. The scanners will begin momentarily." The lights dimmed, and lines of pale blue light drifted over Padmé's body, concentrating on her abdomen. She glanced over at her husband, who was watching the scene with wide eyes. The room brightened, and MD-02 announced, "Preliminary scan complete."

Padmé reached out a hand. "Come here, Ani." He came forward immediately, taking her hand while staring at the white swell of her belly. She had been through this test before, and she could hardly contain her excitement over getting to share this with Anakin. He was still staring at her belly, biting his lower lip.  
"What is it?" she asked softly.  
"Does that hurt them?" He sounded so worried, and she had to laugh.  
"No, it's only an ultrasound – I've had one before." She explained, "They use high-frequency sound waves to generate an image of what's happening inside me." Her eyes flickered sideways, and her face lit up. "Look," she whispered, pointing at the display behind him.  
Anakin's brow wrinkled in confusion, and he turned to look, unsure of what she meant. One side of the monitor was displaying a circular image of reds and yellows. Anakin tilted his head, squinting. It looked like an arm, and there – that could be a leg. And he thought he saw the outline of a face. He glanced back at Padmé, and she was smiling with such beauty that it took his breath away.

"Heartbeat detected. Filtering through aural monitors," MD-02 announced. A rapid thumping noise filled the room, and Anakin listened in bewilderment. Padmé was still smiling like she was privy to a grand secret, and he looked back at the screen. The image had sharpened, and now he could make out a hand with tiny fingers half-curled, held up before a small mouth.  
His head whipped around to his wife, and she could see that he was starting to understand. She gave him a small nod, feeling inexplicable tears welling in her eyes as she murmured, "That's our son, Ani."  
The look on his handsome face made her want to laugh and cry and kiss him all at once. He turned back to the screen, his hand slipping from hers as he walked right up to the image of their unborn son.

Anakin felt stars explode behind his eyes. He could see his son before he was born – while he was still sheltered inside his mother. It was too miraculous for him to comprehend. He walked up to the screen, staring at the image in awe. He asked quietly, "And that thumping?"  
"That's his heartbeat."  
Unable to help himself, Anakin's palm stretched out and caressed the screen, a hot lump filling his throat. _My son, _his heart whispered reverently. The med droid's voice broke into his reverie as it pronounced, "Second heartbeat detected. Displaying image on screen."  
On the far side of the display, another circular image swam into view, occupied by a tiny body twisted sideways. One of its legs kicked out suddenly and Padmé jumped in surprise.  
She grinned at Anakin. "She's a feisty one." Anakin's jaw dropped. In his wonderment over his son, he had completely forgotten that there were two little ones nestled inside his angel. Feeling like he was in a dream, Anakin walked over to the other side, staring at the image of his daughter. Unlike her twin, she stayed in near-constant motion, feet flailing against her mother's womb as if she was eager to leave this dark place and see the world. "She can't seem to stay in one position for too long," Padmé commented in a soft voice just above a whisper, watching her husband's face. She chuckled under her breath. "She gets that from you," she teased.

Anakin's fingers stroked the image of their daughter, feeling his mouth quirk into a lopsided grin.  
He slowly retreated from the screen, widening his view so that he could see both at once. Squares of colored lines and numbers appeared on other parts of the display, and he watched one green line jump up and down with each twins' heartbeat. Eyes glued on the screen, Anakin walked to the far side of Padmé's bed and knelt down. He closed his eyes and laid his head on her shoulder. Padmé instinctively rolled her head sideways and their foreheads touched. Anakin's broad shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh, and reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. His long eyelashes fluttered, and intense blue eyes burned into her gaze. "Thank you," he murmured, rubbing their noses together. "Thank you for making sure I was here for this."  
Her dark eyes glowed as she smiled at him fondly. The sweet moment ended when MD-02 floated over to them, and the young couple drew apart to look at the med droid. "Prenatal exam indicates that both offspring are in excellent health." Padmé breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and Anakin glanced back at her with an encouraging smile. "I am concerned, however, with the rising probability of premature labor," MD-02 resumed. "At this stage in the pregnancy, your uterus cannot expand any further to accommodate the growth of two fully developed fetuses. But we must make every effort to extend their time in the womb as much as possible. So," The med droid moved closer to Padmé's head, looking down into her face. "You are to greatly reduce your physical activity. Use the hoverchair as often as you can, and get plenty of bed rest. Do not stand in one place for more than ten minutes, and always ask for assistance whenever you need to sit or lay down." Padmé nodded silently – it was not as though she could argue with a droid, and MD-02 motioned to MW-001.

The midwife droid guided the hoverchair over to the bedside, and Anakin slipped an arm around Padmé's back, supporting her as he helped ease her into a sitting position. Padmé hid a smile over the way he orbited around her, keeping his palm on her lower back while the other held her arm as she carefully put her feet on the floor. His delicate grasp made her feel as if she were made of glass, and while she did take the med droid's advice seriously, she was hardly fragile. Another med droid entered the room, and showed them the way back to Padmé's room. Anakin looked around curiously, noting that the room was considerably larger than his, with a round white chair on one side of her bed. A refresher unit was situated in the far right corner, and a rectangular viewport facing the bed showed the asteroid belt as it circled the colony.

The med droid folded back the bedclothes as Anakin helped his wife out of the hoverchair, and then settled her on the mattress, fluffing the pillow before she lay down. He tucked the covers around her as the droid soundlessly departed, and ordered mock-seriously, "You heard the MD; you need plenty of bed rest."  
Padmé looked up at him wryly. "I don't like feeling helpless. I'm not weak."  
Anakin kissed her, and leaning over the bed, replied softly, "I know you are not weak, or helpless. But if I have to tie you to the bed, I will. This is what's best for you and the twins." He said all of this with quiet sincerity, blue eyes alight, and she couldn't help but to agree with him.  
She released a deep breath and snuggled under the blankets. Then she noticed the bandage on his temple and asked, "What about you? Are you all right?"  
He smirked at her, pulling an extra cover from the bed and settling his tall frame in the chair. "I'm fine – it's only a surface wound. Although I do 'exhibit the physical signs of fatigue and stress.'" He mimicked, his grin broadening. Padmé stared at him worriedly, and his face softened as he reached out and brushed a fingertip across her cheek. "Trust me, I'm fine. I'm going to get some sleep right now, in fact." He spread the blanket over his chest and leaned back into the chair, bobbing slightly as the weight shifted.  
Padmé continued to look at him, but the worry faded from her expression. She sank further into the mattress, eyelids drooping, and she said sleepily, "Promise me you'll stay here."  
He smiled at her – that special smile he only gave her – and whispered, "I promise." He watched her until her breathing deepened, her chest rising and falling softly, the outline of her hand resting on her belly under the blankets. With the images of their twins – their hopes – drifting through his mind's eye, Anakin fell to sleep.

------------

After sifting through data files for over two hours, Administrator Tuun had declared that it was time for a reprieve. Obi-Wan got up from his chair, wincing as the normal flow of blood returned to his legs, and stretched his stiff neck. Tuun also climbed to his feet, and told the Jedi Master, "It is time for me to make my appointed rounds. Please feel free to move about. There is a small conference room through that door," he pointed at a portal on the left. "It may serve as a suitable change of scenery."  
Obi-Wan smiled faintly. "That sounds like a good idea. After you finish your rounds, could you send Anakin here? I would like to fill him in on our progress." Tuun nodded, and then headed out of the office, the door closing as he exited. Obi-Wan made his way to the door that Tuun had indicated, a chill sweeping over his bare arms. The MedCenter's atmospheric controls were set at a lower temperature than most.  
It must have something to do with Polis Massan physiology.  
Obi-Wan entered the conference room, and immediately noticed that the room was bathed in a dim silvery glow. As he stepped inside, he realized where the light originated from, and paused in amazement.  
The room had rounded walls, and the two opposite the door were made completely of transparisteel, revealing a spectacular view of the asteroid field and endless stars twinkling in the blackness of space.  
The interior lights rose as he came further into the room, and Obi-Wan saw a cluster of round chairs hovering around a circular table in the center of the floor. He chose a seat nearest to the view and spun to face it, absently watching the asteroids tumble and spin in their eternal dance.

He began to meditate, determined more than ever to be restored fully to the Force. He focused on expanding his perception outwards, as he had done on the skiff, and felt ambiguous variations from the minds within the MedCenter. The heaviness he had sensed earlier permeated the air, and along with it was a flicker of anticipation. Something was approaching – an event that could shape the fate of the galaxy.  
Obi-Wan pushed aside a fleeting desire to read into the future – he had seen firsthand what such knowledge did to a person's mind. Instead, he turned his awareness inward, examining the injury to his leg.  
A healing trance was beyond his strength in the Force right now, but the Jedi Master coaxed his cells to work faster, repairing the damage to the bone.  
And then he wondered what to do about Anakin.  
Obi-Wan was somewhat persuaded that the young man's remorse was genuine – but it was clear to him that full conversion had not occurred until Anakin was cut off from the Force. The dark side was a poison, and should Anakin reestablish his connection that poison would once more course through his veins. It was still inside him, festering in the dark places of his heart. It might be beneficial for everyone, including Anakin, that he remain blinded to the energy field of life. He had decided to tell Anakin that the Force flowed through him again, and that he had sensed the Force Sensitive mind of one of his children.  
Obi-Wan had had his fill of secrets.  
From now on there would be only truth.

------------

"Jedi Skywalker."  
Someone was shaking him. Anakin groaned at the interruption to his much-needed sleep and rolled away from the touch. "Jedi Skywalker." Again he was shaken, a little harder than before, and a muzzy sense of coherency slowly filled his mind. He became aware of the soft material of the blanket under his chin, the gentle swaying of the chair on which he was sitting, and a soft beeping noise that he had not heard earlier. And the voice still trying to rouse him – he knew to whom it belonged, but his sleep-fogged brain could not recall a name or face. He took in a deep breath and yawned, his eyelids grudgingly opening.  
"Jedi Skywalker?" An empty white face hovered over him, staring with beady black eyes.

Anakin sat up with a start, his hand automatically diving for the place on his thigh where his lightsaber hung – and then his wits returned in a rush, slowing his pounding heart. Administrator Maneeli Tuun had jumped backwards from the young man, his hand half-raised from where it had rested on Anakin's arm. Anakin felt the tension drain from his body, and his blue gaze drifted to Padmé's slumbering form on the bed. Then he looked up at the Administrator ruefully, muttering, "I'm sorry. I should not have reacted that way – it was rude and unfair."  
Though Tuun's expression was unable to change, Anakin noticed the rigid line of his shoulders relax. He replied quietly, "It is all right. With all that you and Master Kenobi has been through, I should have been more considerate in my method of awakening you." He kept at a respectful distance as Anakin lurched to his feet, stretching his arms high above his head. When he was settled, Tuun continued in a low voice, "I was making my rounds through the MedCenter and Master Kenobi asked me to bring you to him."  
The dark tang of discord slithered into Anakin's thoughts. He pushed it aside as he asked, "Where is he?"  
"A private conference room near my office. I will take you there in a moment." Tuun finished his explanation and turned to Padmé, retrieving a small datapad from the foot of her bed. Anakin tugged on a pair of slippers and followed the Administrator, watching him study the datapad and type occasionally.

He must have sensed Anakin's probing stare, for the Polis Massan moved slightly to show him the screen. "Everything looks very good. Her counts have stabilized, and the injury to her shoulder has healed by almost 35. And look here," Tuun expertly folded back the bedcovers and showed Anakin a small green light blinking steadily under the thin fabric of her gown, right by her hip.  
"This is a contraction monitor. When it senses that her muscles have tightened in preparation for labor, the device will activate an alert system." Anakin stared at the tiny light, biting his lower lip. While he was incredibly thankful for all the attention they were giving his wife, he still could not escape the lingering disquiet seeping into the air. Tuun softly replaced the covers, oblivious to the young man's anxiety.  
"Come," he said, heading for the door, "I will take you to Master Kenobi now."  
"Can someone tell her where I am?" Anakin asked worriedly, looking at her peaceful face from where he stood by her bedside, vainly attempting to pull himself away.  
"She will be told," Tuun reassured him gently. "But in a likelihood she will still be asleep by the time you return." He opened the door and gestured for Anakin to precede him into the corridor.

Throwing one last longing glance over his shoulder, Anakin walked outside, the familiar ache of separation squeezing tightly around his chest. He fell in step alongside the Administrator and tried to fix his mind on something else.  
His missing lightsaber. He could get Artoo to search the skiff and bring it to him. Anakin inquired casually, "Where are our droids, C-3PO and R2-D2?"  
The Administrator answered, "Master Kenobi had them sent to Maintenance. Both seemed quite at a loss as to what they were expected to do. Our droid technician is highly skilled and has been given explicit orders to limit his repairs to their exteriors." Anakin nodded, impressed in spite of the mounting friction between himself and his old friend. Obi-Wan had a far-seeing gaze; he thought five or ten steps ahead, while Anakin…he contented himself with one or two.  
But a trip to Maintenance sounded promising. As much as he enjoyed being with Padmé, Anakin would go crazy if he sat in that room for hours, waiting for her to wake up. Perhaps the technician would let him borrow some tools so he could adjust his artificial arm.  
Anakin straightened his right arm and held it out in front of him, flexing the black and gold digits as he eyed them critically. The response time for the middle finger seemed a millisecond off. He rotated his arm, listening to the servomotors, and made a mental note to lubricate the one operating the wrist.

Since that horrific day when he had lost his flesh and blood arm, Anakin had taught himself to see his cyber replacement as something better than what he had lost. He could manipulate the wires to make his arm carry more weight, bend in ways that a normal appendage could not, and withstand extreme temperatures. Yet whenever he brushed his hand over his wife's bare skin and saw cold metal against her body – disgust hollowed his stomach. Those moments made him wish that he had no arm at all.  
Padmé paid no heed to his artificial limb. Indeed, she was far more accepting of it than he was.  
However, they had not yet discussed how a metal arm would inhibit the care of two newborns. Anakin knew enough about babies to understand that their tiny bodies needed the gentlest touch. He supposed that he could always wear a gauntlet when holding one of the twins, and he also could tweak the circuits in his arm to ensure that their slight weight would not cause a power shortage. But he would not be able to hold them, completely, flesh to flesh. There would always be something that made him less human.

Choking off the dread that surged into his heart, Anakin was distracted by Tuun's curious glance at his extended arm. The gleaming metal flashed in the corridor lights as Anakin remarked, "I was thinking about making a trip to Maintenance myself after I speak with Obi-Wan."  
Tuun asked compassionately, "Did it happen during the war?"  
"At the beginning, on Geonosis. I saved my Master's life and jumped into a fight that I thought I could win." Anakin shook his head over his youthful arrogance. "As you can see, I lost more than the duel."  
"I hope that whomever you fought was brought to justice."  
Anakin looked away, his skin prickling as guilt poured hotly down his throat. Dooku's death had not brought him to justice, and it had not restored to Anakin what he had lost in that hangar on Geonosis. Death was an endless black cycle that had entrapped him for four years. He would _not_ go back.

The Administrator broke into his tortured musings. "We have just received new research technology from a world beyond Wild Space with the potential to engineer a cybernetic replica of lost appendages."  
Anakin looked over at him inquisitively. "The limb is still made up of artificial components, but it has the appearance of a flesh and blood limb. It has skin, warmth, and the sensors are infinitely more sophisticated than any droid's." Tuun paused and stared at Anakin, speaking with quiet sincerity. "I would be deeply honored if you would consent to be our first test subject."  
Speechless, Anakin stood there in shock as Tuun grasped his artificial hand with both long-fingered hands and said earnestly, "We would construct the new limb to match your left arm. It will have the proper skin tone, the tiny sensory hairs, even fingernails."  
"B-but," Anakin stuttered, struggling to comprehend something that was almost too good to be true, "But why would you choose me?"  
"The process will be considerably simpler with human physiology, but I must tell you that it will be painful. The technology is experimental, and requires precise neurosurgery. Since you are a Jedi, and have already endured a cybernetic replacement, you are the best and most logical choice." He seemed so enthusiastic, and spoke as if he had just bestowed upon Anakin a priceless gift. And it _was_ a gift – if this new arm did all the things Tuun said then Anakin would never have to wear a glove to conceal his metallic limb. He would never again feel self-loathing when he touched Padmé or their twins. He would be whole, on the outside anyway.

Anakin squared his shoulders and said determinedly, "When would this surgery take place?"  
Tuun shook his hand and laid the other on his shoulder as he replied, "We would need some time to prepare, but it could be a early as tomorrow. The surgery will be lengthy, and you will have to remain conscious so that we can test if the nerve connections are working properly." Anakin barely resisted a shudder in remembrance. The surgery to implant his first droid arm had been excruciating. Only the Force and the memory of Padmé's softly whispered pledge had kept him from drowning in nonstop waves of pain.  
He nodded. "I understand. I would like to have the surgery as soon as possible, so that my arm will be healed before the twins are born."  
Tuun slowly released Anakin's hand and patted his shoulder warmly. "It will be a success – I know it. I will begin preparations at once, and the surgery will be scheduled for 0800." The Administrator turned sideways and swept an arm towards a corridor on the right. "Follow the hall to my office. It is the last door at the end of the hall. Through that door and the second one on the right you will find Master Kenobi."  
His hand fell away from Anakin's shoulder and he strode toward the opposite hall.

Anakin spun and called hurriedly after him, "Don't tell Padmé about the surgery." A gleeful smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. "I want it to be a surprise." The Administrator waved in acknowledgement and continued on his way, and Anakin headed down the right-hand corridor towards the door at the end. Pressing his hand on it, as he had seen Tuun do numerous times, Anakin stepped inside the office, glancing around in mild curiosity until he spotted the second door on the right. It was open.  
He inhaled deeply, promising himself that he would not sulk in like a criminal awaiting his sentence. Neither would he parade into the room as if he had done nothing wrong.  
He simply started walking, only concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other as he crossed the threshold and saw the silhouette of his old Master against the backdrop of twirling asteroids.

------------

Obi-Wan sensed the whisper of movement at his side but remained focused on the view as Anakin settled into a chair. Peripherally, he glimpsed that the younger man was garbed in medical clothes as well, and was not wearing a glove over his mechanical arm. He looked impossibly young. Obi-Wan could see traces of the round-faced boy who raced Pods within Anakin's profile, softly illuminated by the starlight.  
In that fleeting instant the last few days disappeared, and Anakin and Obi-Wan were The Team once again. Companionship and brotherly affection stirred in the air between them, and the Jedi Master let it warm him as it infused the Force. He realized that Anakin could not feel it – and like a heavy stone, the thought sank his buoyant spirit and pulled him back into the grey mists of the present.  
Nevertheless, Obi-Wan murmured honestly, "I'm glad you came."  
He meant it in more ways than one, and Anakin caught the innuendo, as Obi-Wan knew he would. "So am I," the young man remarked with equal candor, using the same layered inflection in his words.

Obi-Wan hazarded a brief glance at his old friend and saw the smile playing on his lips and the pensive gleam in his blue eyes. _He's so young, _Obi-Wan found himself musing again. He wondered why this particular truth had never crossed his mind before. Maybe because Anakin worked so hard to appear more mature in order to carry many responsibilities. Or maybe Obi-Wan just wanted to believe that Anakin's virtue had not been murdered by his plunge into the dark side.  
The Jedi Master shoved aside his dark thoughts, asking softly, "How is Padmé?"  
Anakin turned sideways in his seat, his expression shimmering with love and hope, and for a handful of seconds Obi-Wan did not recognize him. "She's doing fine. She's sleeping right now. Administrator Tuun says that her shoulder is healing, but the med droids have put a huge limit on her physical activity because of the risk of premature labor." Anakin's blue orbs twinkled happily. "The twins are fine, too." He leaned closer, practically jumping with excitement, and Obi-Wan looked at him in bemusement.  
"Obi-Wan, I saw them. I saw my son and daughter before they are born. The med droids did this…ultrasound test on Padmé and I saw them on a display screen. It was the most…" He struggled to find the right word, and Obi-Wan felt a hint of joy tug at the corner of his mouth. "It was the most incredible, beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life."

Obi-Wan's amusement evaporated as he studied Anakin's beaming face. "You have no regrets, then." It was the wearily accepting statement of a man who still considered his only apprentice as his greatest failure.  
Anakin looked away, his smile dissolving into a thin line of anger. He stifled the threatening eruption of his temper and glanced back at his old Master, his face wiped clean of emotion. "No – not about them. Or about Padmé. I will _never_ regret the people that I love, Obi-Wan. _Never_."  
Obi-Wan sighed, muttering under his breath, "I wouldn't expect you to." He sat up straight, the lines on his face settled into a well-used expression of authority, and decided to be entirely straightforward. "I can feel the Force again."  
To say that Anakin was surprised would be a radical understatement. Blatant shock splashed across his handsome face, and his mouth opened and closed several times like a fish out of water. Obi-Wan would have laughed if their situation were not so dire. "Y-you…" Anakin spluttered, "What…?"  
"It is nowhere near how it used to feel, but it is here." Obi-Wan continued speaking as if he had not heard Anakin's disbelieving words. "It was how I knew the twins were safe before you and Padmé felt them move on the ship. One of them reached out to me in the Force."

Now he had captured Anakin's full attention. The younger man rotated to fully face him, blue eyes igniting with intensity, silently urging the Jedi Master to resume his explanation. Obi-Wan said quietly, "The contact was very brief, and an undeveloped mind cannot communicate in ways that we can understand, but…" He thought of that tiny glimmer, and how it had darted around his mental touch, drawn to him – and yet somehow uncertain of him at the same time. "But I do think that the child was searching for you." As he spoke, his voice contained a note of surprise, as if he had just stumbled upon a revelation of great import. Obi-Wan's far-off gaze came back to his former Padawan, who was staring at him with a mixture of fatherly pride and wonder, and asked, "Have you used the Force to sense your children?"  
"Yes," Anakin answered as though it were perfectly obvious. "I hadn't seen Padmé in five months, and she told me that babies can recognize their parents' voices from inside the womb." He shyly averted his gaze. "I was afraid that they wouldn't know me, and I wanted to know if they were – you know…" He trailed off, shrugging helplessly.  
"You wanted to know if they were like you," Obi-Wan concluded grimly. "I should think that would have been a simple enough question to answer yourself, Anakin. You _are _the Chosen One, after all. The most powerful within the Order, next to Master Yoda."

"You don't understand," Anakin shook his head fervently, desperation in his eyes. "I don't _want_ them to be like me." Obi-Wan leaned back, slate-colored eyes widening slightly. "I don't want them to carry this burden from the moment they are born. I don't want them to constantly look over their shoulders for a threat. I don't want them to make my mistakes." He slumped in his seat, head lowered as he finished sadly, "I want them to lead happy, normal lives." Anakin chanced a look at his old friend through the tousled locks of blond hair dangling in his eyes and saw the older man staring at him as if he did not know him. But it was not the same look he had given him yesterday on the veranda. This look held the same amount of surprise – but it also held traces of satisfaction and amusement.  
He continued to look at him with that baffling expression for several minutes, until Anakin's impatience flared and he demanded, "What?"  
An enigmatic grin brightened the Jedi Master's face. "You sound like a father." Anakin blinked at him, taken aback by his amused tone. Obi-Wan did not really understand what was happening himself.  
All he knew was that as he sat there listening to Anakin's dreams for his children, he ceased to think of him as the betrayer, the enemy – and instead saw him as the young husband and father-to-be, and the best friend he thought was gone forever. Obi-Wan lightly slapped his thighs and stood, looking down at Anakin.

"And as a father, I called you here to let you know what precautions we are taking to ensure your family's safety." He grabbed a datapad from the table and handed it to Anakin, saying, "Thus far, Administrator Tuun and I have deleted all records of our conversation with Port Control and the computer logs of our arrival. We also removed all our names from the medical files and kept Padmé's under a pseudonym in case she gives birth. When and if that happens, the files will then be deleted and all data regarding the twins will vanish as well."  
Anakin was staring at the datapad screen blankly, apparently lost in thought. "Anakin?"  
Anakin glanced quickly up at Obi-Wan and replied throatily, "Thank you." Obi-Wan nodded, his expression softening, and strolled away from Anakin over to the transparisteel, watching the stars.  
Anakin tossed the datapad onto the tabletop and came to his feet, following the older man to the viewport. The sensation that he was living within a dream had stayed with Anakin since the ultrasound, and now the feeling intensified as he stood side by side with a man he had once sworn to kill. He crossed his arms casually over his chest and asked quietly, "Do you think the Force will come back to me?"  
Obi-Wan began fingering his beard – a clear sign that he was deeply ensconced in contemplation. "I honestly don't know, Anakin. Nothing like this has ever happened before – not in this way – and I have no idea how you did it in the first place."  
"But you said it happened before?" Anakin was avid for more information, gazing at Obi-Wan with wide cobalt eyes that gleamed silver in the wan light. "When? Who?"

Obi-Wan inhaled a long, slow breath and recalled the ancient tale in his mind. "It is a long, sad story… But to summarize, there was a Jedi Knight long ago who fell to the dark side and in the midst of the great battle between him and the Jedi Order – he slew his younger brother. It grieved the man deeply, but his sorrow was not as strong as that of another Jedi – a woman who loved him. Witnessing the horror of the man she loved striking down his brother made something break inside her. In her mourning and rage, she used the Force to sever the man's link to his powers. She cut him off from the Force, and then he was no longer a threat. He teetered on the edge of sanity for many months, and eventually went into exile on a distant planet." He glanced sideways at his companion.  
Anakin was motionless, his gaze fixed on the glittering stars. Then he inquired in a low voice, "Is that the end of the story?"  
"No. As a matter of fact, the fallen Jedi found his redemption in a young girl – the daughter of the woman Jedi who had stolen the Force from him. She sought him out for training, and in so doing, found himself again. Unfortunately, he was shot by an ordinary cargo pilot wanting to be a hero, but after he died, his body faded from existence and his spirit was reclaimed by the Force."  
"But he never could use the Force again."  
"That is not known…but it is a valid point of view," Obi-Wan admitted quietly.  
"What was his name?" Anakin asked timidly, like he almost did not want to know. Obi-Wan understood his reasoning. Names gave legends like the one he had just told power. Names allowed the imagination to shape a face, a personality, and make a legend more than just a story.  
He replied, "Ulic Qel-Droma."

Silence blanketed the room for some time, each man examining his own thoughts like rare jewels, the facets twinkling at them as they turned them over in their heads.  
Obi-Wan was uncertain of how to proceed without sounding like the sanctimonious teacher, and Anakin was wondering why he had even asked that question, especially when the answer created more questions.  
Anakin broke the silence as he murmured to himself, "So I might never get the Force back."  
"Perhaps it's for the best," Obi-Wan remarked, almost too softly for Anakin to hear, absently stroking his beard.  
Anakin glanced sharply at him. "What do you mean?" He fired off the question like a laser blast.  
His former Master sighed heavily and turned to look at him. "For the first time in your life, Anakin, you have balance. You have peace in your heart. And you and I both know that it is because of your separation from the Force – the dark _and_ the light." He laid his hand on the young man's shoulder compassionately. "Can you honestly tell me that you want to go back to how you felt before?"  
Anakin jerked away from his hand, blue eyes ablaze. "I'm different now," he growled.  
"Are you?" Obi-Wan retorted bluntly. Anakin saw the unspoken words in his flinty blue-grey stare. _Reckless, headstrong, impulsive._ Obi-Wan shook his head sadly. "You give your emotions too much power over you. Acting without thinking, following impulses blindly, letting your passions steer your course…" His eyes narrowed slightly as the shadows darkened Anakin's face, and challenged, "How are you different, Anakin?"

Anakin's cybernetic arm slashed the air between them in a cutting gesture. "Do _not_ lecture me, Obi-Wan! I'm not your Padawan anymore! My emotions saved my life – or did you already forget?" In one long-legged stride, he stood toe to toe with the Jedi Master, glaring into his stern face. "I saw it in your eyes, _Master_." He used the title like an insult. "You were ready to kill me. You would have done it, too, if you hadn't seen the remorse eating me alive." He backed away a few steps, his voice a low rumble as he said, "It still eats at me. It gnaws on my bones every time I see you." Some of the anger faded from his fiery blue stare, but not from his tone as he bit out, "I can't change who I am."  
Obi-Wan drew himself upright, ignoring the painful spasm in the leg as he countered, "Change the way you _think_, Anakin – how you respond to situations beyond your control. Are you able to reverse that while connected to the Force? The only reason you see clearly now is because you are blind to it! If the connection is restored the dark side will reach for you again – it haunts you even now. It will be easier to touch the next time, and the next, and the next – until you realize that you have lost everyone you have ever loved."  
He echoed Anakin's own thoughts almost exactly. But it was difficult to hear them all the same. Anakin muttered bitterly, "I would fight it. I would fight it just like I have for thirteen years. Without the Force I can't protect my family. I told you yesterday – I made the only choice I thought that I had."  
"You know better than that. Do not mask one excuse with another," Obi-Wan replied harshly, putting his hands on his hips.  
Anakin's eyes sparked like kindling, and he jabbed a finger in Obi-Wan's face, snarling, "I thought I told you _not to lecture me?"_

"What's going on here?"  
Both men whipped around to look towards the doorway. A petite woman with thick brown ringlets spilling over her shoulders and delicate features that did not disguise the fierce strength smoldering in her dark eyes consumed their attention as her hoverchair floated into the room. Padmé let her stare roam from one man to the other, perturbed by their silence. "What's going on here?" she repeated, hardening her tone. Anakin flinched just noticeably as her eyes came to rest on him. He nervously met her gaze, and then glanced swiftly over her body, assessing her condition. A soft white coverlet was draped over her belly, covering her legs, and a slender palm lay against the bulge as one cultured eyebrow rose expectantly.  
"I thought you were sleeping," Anakin offered meekly, biting his lower lip.  
"I woke up an hour ago. MD-02 told me where to find you, and said you were here with Obi-Wan." Her piercing stare transferred to the Jedi Master, and she asked, "What were you talking about?"

Obi-Wan felt trapped by Padmé's glare. He had never seen her like this before, but it must have happened in the past, or Anakin would not immediately quail under her gaze. He answered mildly, "Nothing of importance. Merely a philosophical debate, that's all." He tried on a smile. "I did relate to your husband earlier the steps that are being taken to keep us hidden from the Empire." He quickly leaned over and snatched the datapad Anakin had tossed aside from the table and held it out to her.  
Padmé searched Obi-Wan's expression for a moment, her own face softening a little, but her eyes told him that she was not fooled as she grabbed the datapad and studied the screen. Obi-Wan glanced over her head at Anakin, feeling like a naughty child. The younger man was deliberately avoiding his look, and seeing the hand balled in a fist as his side told Obi-Wan that he was still inwardly seething from their argument.  
Padmé announced in her Senator's voice, "This looks good. Although I suggest – Oh!" She broke off, hunching over slightly as both hands pressed against her stomach.

Anakin knelt before her in an instant, breath caught in his throat as he choked out, "What is it?"  
She slowly sat up, rubbing her belly soothingly and gave him a tender smile. "I'm fine. One of them kicked me hard, right in the ribs."  
Anakin placed his flesh hand over the swelling, the blanket shifting aside, and he saw the tiny green light blinking continually on her hip. Relief trickled down his spine. "Hey," he leaned closer, speaking to her stomach, "No more kicking Mommy, okay?" He flashed Padmé a lopsided grin and she laughed softly.  
Obi-Wan politely cleared his throat, and Anakin sat back on his haunches, gently squeezing Padmé's hand before lurching to his feet. He turned to face his old friend, his ire leaking into his cerulean eyes as he said calmly, "I think we're done here, right, Obi-Wan? We've all had a long day, and Padmé needs her rest."  
He swung around to the rear of her hoverchair, beginning to steer her towards the door.  
As she opened her mouth to protest Anakin's ridiculous behavior, Obi-Wan called, "You need to think about what I said, Anakin. For your children's sake."

The leash barely restraining Anakin's temper snapped. He spun on heel and marched up to Obi-Wan, shouting, "I don't need to _think_ about _anything_, Obi-Wan! Who are you to tell me how I should live my life, how I should take care of my family? Next I suppose you'll tell me how to love my wife!"  
"Anakin!" Padmé cried in shock.  
Obi-Wan was reaching the end of his patience. His chin rose, as did his voice to match Anakin's volume. "This is _precisely_ what I was talking about! If you had the Force you would not hesitate to use it against me! Why can't you see that your anger is the deadliest weapon you possess?"  
"I would _never_ use it to hurt Padmé – or my children!"  
"I don't believe you, Anakin!" Sadness mingled with the anger in Obi-Wan's eyes. "I _can't_ believe you. Not anymore." Anakin's jaw clenched as he stared at the Jedi Master, the familiar flames of his rage licking the edges of his nerves.

"Enough!" Padmé moved her hoverchair directly in the middle of their shouting match and spoke in the icy, unyielding voice of a former Queen. "You _will_ tell me what this is all about." Right away, she turned her brown eyes to her husband. "Anakin?"  
His chest was heaving with suppressed fury, hands balled into fists at his sides. Ice-hot blue eyes glowered at the Jedi Master, and Padmé saw the corded muscles of his arms trembling as he fought against his darker tendencies. She hesitantly reached out and brushed her fingertips over his whitened knuckles. He jumped, and glanced down at her with widened eyes, almost like he had forgotten that she was present. His gaze softened just noticeably, and he took her hand, threading his fingers through hers. He held on with a surprisingly firm grip, like he was drawing strength from their physical connection.  
Purging his tone of resentment, Anakin replied, "Obi-Wan told me that he can feel the Force again, and through it, he sensed one of the twins." Padmé's eyebrows rose to arch high on her forehead – clearly that was not the answer she had been expecting. Her dark eyes slid sideways to Obi-Wan for confirmation.  
He nodded, saying quietly, "One of them reached out to me, very briefly, and I thought that perhaps they found me because they were looking for Anakin."  
"But… How would the twins know how to do that?" Padmé was deeply confused. She was ignorant in many aspects of the Force, but she was fairly certain that a being required Jedi training before obtaining the knowledge to use the Force in such a way.  
Apparently she was mistaken.

Anakin answered her. "Remember what I said to you earlier about our twins being very strong with the Force? This is a part of that. I touched their minds before with the Force, so they learned to recognize my essence." He saw the unspoken question in her gaze, and added, "I wasn't with you for five months, Padmé. I was afraid that when they were born, they wouldn't know that I'm their father." His eyes fell, and Padmé felt her heart turn over in sympathy. She tugged their intertwined fingers to her lips and laid a gentle kiss on his hand. He glanced up, giving her a sad, fleeting smile.  
"All right…" Padmé said slowly, trying to put the pieces together so that she could understand, "So Obi-Wan can use the Force again, and from the nature of this conversation I assume that Anakin cannot."  
Obi-Wan inclined his head in acquiescence while Anakin stated curtly, "And he thinks it should stay that way."  
"Let's not have this argument again, Anakin," Obi-Wan muttered in a weary voice, eyes closing briefly. "You know my views on this subject. All I ask is that you give it some thought."  
"And I told you that there's nothing to think about," Anakin retorted, some of his ire retreating from his tone as he felt his wife's slim fingers tighten slightly around his. "If there's a way for me to feel the Force again, I will find it."  
"Without weighing the consequences?" Obi-Wan's normally tranquil blue-grey eyes flared with sudden intensity, and Padmé stared at him in astonishment. "You have not changed. Your desire for power may be founded upon selfless devotion, Anakin – but it is a _desire_ nonetheless! That desire made you easy prey for Palpatine!"

Padmé watched her husband's face drain of all color, and then flush crimson with anger. "Ani, don't," she pleaded softly, clutching his hand in both of hers as he went to pull away. But he did not listen to her. Anakin wrenched his hand from her grip, bending her wrist painfully, and stalked up to Obi-Wan, his expression distorted by an enraged sneer. Padmé rubbed her aching wrist, a cold shiver slithering over her skin as she glimpsed Anakin's face. She had seen that look before, and she wanted nothing to do with that dark stranger lurking within the shadows of her husband's eyes. "Anakin…"  
Obi-Wan saw the darkness invading the younger man's countenance, and against his better judgment continued ruthlessly, "What did he promise you, Anakin? The power to cheat death? And you believed him, didn't you? Of course you did, you had no reason to doubt him – he was your _friend_, after all. And I suppose what you did at the Jedi Temple was part of the agreement. Did you ever stop to think what else he would command you to do before he gave you what you wanted? Did you think that he would _ever_ give you _anything?_ And yet you have no regrets about the reason you fell." A small, weak voice in the back of his mind cried for him to be silent, but Obi-Wan allowed his grief and helpless rage spill over. "You never fooled me, Anakin. I knew – for a long time, I knew. And I held my tongue – do you want to know why? Because you were _happy_ – _she_ makes you happy, and I thought that she would give you the balance you so desperately need. And therein lies my mistake. You do not _belong_ together, Anakin – do you understand that yet? What you feel for _her_," he jabbed a finger in Padmé's direction, "has made you vulnerable to the dark side!"

A small gasp escaped from Padmé's lips, her lovely face pale and washed with silvery light. But her reaction did not pain Obi-Wan as much as that of his old friend. Anakin's angry face was streaked with furious tears, blue eyes glaring with betrayal. His voice shook as he muttered through clenched teeth, "You will _not…_speak to…_my wife_ like that. This…is…not…_her fault!"_ In an act driven purely by instinctive rage, Anakin's fist slammed into the Jedi Master's jaw.  
Obi-Wan, though he sensed impending danger, was lost in his own tortured emotions and turned his face just in time to see the blow before it sent him reeling backwards. He stumbled into a chair, his injured leg unable to support him, and he fell to the ground. His lightsaber, which had been tucked into the waistband of his pants, rolled across the floor and under the table, stopping near Anakin's right foot. The younger man did not notice as he stood over Obi-Wan, fists raised. "You have _no idea_ what I've been through!" Anakin shouted, tears streaming down his cheeks, "You have no idea how hard it was for me to walk into the Temple that night, knowing what I had to do! I wanted to _die_ afterwards, Obi-Wan! You can never understand what I feel – what I feel for her is so strong that I… I would die to save her! And that's what I did – I died. But you can't see that." He looked down, and saw the glimmer of a metallic cylinder lying near his feet. He bent and picked up the lightsaber in his artificial hand, holding the inactive weapon with casual grace. Padmé, who had been mute in shock, vision blurry with tears, saw what Anakin grasped in his hand. Her heart began thundering wildly against her ribs. "No. Oh no, Ani…" she breathed. She swallowed through a dry throat and said louder, "No, Anakin." She tried to steer the hoverchair closer, but a trio of chairs suddenly flew out from the table and blocked her way.

Obi-Wan slowly lowered his raised hand, sapped of his minimal Force energy, and he gazed up at Anakin with sad, watery eyes. "I think I understand now. But understanding does not change the fact that you are dangerous, Anakin – to yourself and to those whom you love, and who love you in return." He peered around Anakin's leg and saw Padmé's white face, her pleas for them to stop falling upon deaf ears.  
Anakin's hand flexed around the hilt of Obi-Wan's lightsaber, the metal creaking slightly. His expression altered subtly, and Obi-Wan saw his opening. Swinging his uninjured leg in a roundhouse kick, he knocked Anakin's feet out from under him. The younger man landed with a dull thump, his breath escaping in a rush, and Obi-Wan made a lunge for the lightsaber.  
Anakin found himself on the floor, momentarily dazed until a hand belonging to his old Master scrambled for the lightsaber. With a roar, he used the hilt as a club and sent it towards Obi-Wan's skull, waiting for the dull thud of impact. But the older man ducked at the last instant and jammed his elbow into Anakin's chin. His head fell back, and he lost his grip on the lightsaber, but he used the momentum to ram his heel into Obi-Wan's ribs. The Jedi Master cried out in pain, doubling over, and the weapon slid from his fingers. As they tussled on the floor, the cylinder rolled to a stop before a pair of white-clad feet.

"STOP IT!"  
A powerful voice rang out. Blue light flared in the room, and the infamous _snap-hiss_ filled the air, causing both combatants to freeze, stunned at the sight. Padmé towered over them, holding the blade in a two-handed grip, the indigo light illuminating her furious expression. Anakin and Obi-Wan sprang apart, staring at the young woman with wide, unsure eyes. Obi-Wan's lip was bleeding, and Anakin had a purplish bruise blossoming over the cleft in his chin. Padmé shifted her hands slightly, the blade humming as they watched her warily.  
Pain suddenly thrust itself into Padmé's abdomen – so intense that she blacked out for an instant. She cried out, the lightsaber falling from limp fingers, deactivating as it hit the ground. Her arms instinctively encircled her belly as she doubled over, squeezing her eyes shut in a vain effort to block out the agony searing her muscles.  
Anakin heard her scream and leapt to his feet as she tumbled to the floor, his toe kicking aside the now-forgotten lightsaber as he cradled Padmé in his arms. "Padmé? Padmé!" He called fearfully, stroking her cheeks as the wave of pain washed across her face. "What is it?" He asked urgently.  
"It hurts…" she whimpered, eyes shut tight. "Oh…it hurts, Ani!" Sweat was beginning to bead on her forehead, and vestiges of his nightmare burst behind his pupils. _"Anakin, help me!"  
_Anakin felt Obi-Wan kneel beside him, but whatever conflict existed between them had no standing now. All that mattered was Padmé.

Her eyes abruptly snapped open, nearly black with pain and fear, and she looked at him, whispering, "Oh, no." Padmé felt a warm gush of liquid, and Anakin looked down quickly, watching the puddle spread across the floor.  
"What's happening? Padmé?" Fear was suffocating him, sucking the air from his lungs. "Padmé, what's happening?" She cried out again, her hands fisting on his shirt as her whole body tensed in his arms. And then she fell back, utterly spent, inhaling short little breaths.  
In a fleeting moment of clarity, Anakin remembered the tiny device Administrator Tuun had shown him. Swiftly and gently, he rolled Padmé sideways and saw the tiny light blinking rapidly. It was no longer green, but a bright red.  
And then it clicked.  
Anakin hauled himself to his feet, Padmé locked securely in his arms, and told Obi-Wan in a voice that belied his raw terror, "We have to get her back to Maternity. I think she's in labor."


	14. Paradigm Shift: Finale

**Chapter Ten  
**_**Paradigm Shift: Finale**_

Senator Amidala had a gift for secrecy.  
Cody supposed that all Galactic Senators maintained strict confidentiality, given the nature of politics – but this particular Senator jealously guarded her private life. More troopers had poured into the apartment over the past six hours, scouring rooms from top to bottom and finding nothing that would allow Cody to pinpoint Amidala's current location.  
He had no doubt now that she was in the company of a Jedi.  
That made her an enemy of the state, if she was indeed conspiring with a fugitive. On the other hand, if she had been taken by force, Amidala would be placed under house arrest and removed from her position in the Senate until evidence was found to support that claim.  
At least that was what the official report would say.  
Cody had his orders from the Emperor himself. When Senator Amidala was found, she would be brought to Palpatine, period. Obi-Wan Kenobi would make that trip as well, if Cody could figure out a way to capture him without literally losing his head. But he still had questions – questions that he kept locked inside his mind. Like where was Skywalker's body.

The young Jedi's lightsaber felt heavy hanging from Cody's ammo belt as he paced the main floor of the suite. The dust and fog had cleared during the rainstorm, and the extent of structural damage to the circular room was immense, like a bomb had been detonated. Cody glanced outside, watching a pair of troopers load the final corpse into a gunship under a pale violet sky. It was nearly sunset according to the planetary chronometer, but the atmosphere was shrouded in thick clouds. Thin traces of golden yellow peeked around the edges of the densely packed clouds, colored crimson by the fading glow of the sun, but would swiftly disappear as a gust of wind carried the storms across Galactic City.

Cody turned away and strode down the far hallway toward the Senator's study. Inside, an Intelligence officer sat at the desk, hacking into the files stored on Amidala's datapad. So far, there had been no mention of anything that might lead them to her. The Senatorial encryptions had been easy enough to break, as Intelligence had been given the master code, but all those files were simply documentation of Amidala's work in the Senate. Notes on proposed amendments, records of past rulings, and various other political agendas filled the screen. There was no reference to friends or family – and no evidence of personal holo messages being sent or received from the terminal. The woman either lived for her work…or she had something to hide. Cody gambled on the latter – his observations of Senator Amidala and perusing her biography confirmed that she was dedicated to her causes, but she was also a young woman who had never entered into a serious romantic relationship. And if the gossip around Five Hundred Republica could be trusted; she had frequent visits from one Anakin Skywalker, including the early morning or late in the evening – which could place them in a very scandalous liaison.  
No evidence had been found to support that theory, so Cody dismissed it as juvenile hearsay.

"Sir, I may have found something." The Intelligence trooper's voice disturbed Cody's line of thinking, but he recovered quickly and circled around the desk to peer at the display screen. "I was unable to find a record of the Senator's affiliations – family and so forth – but then it occurred to me that every Senator has a means to travel off-planet. So I checked the purchase records and found…" He pointed at an entry with flourish.  
Cody leaned in, eyes narrowing as he read, "45 gallons of ion fuel for a Naboo Star Skiff. And?"  
"And I looked into the private landing pad registrar and learned that Senator Amidala has a registered claim on Pad 452A." The trooper looked up at him triumphantly.  
Cody's patience was wearing thin. "Come to the point, trooper," he commanded roughly.  
"Sir," the trooper's tone was incredulous, "In locating the skiff we can determine whether or not Amidala is still on Coruscant. I had a squad stationed in that sector investigate the pad and they reported that it's vacant, except for a small speeder. A speeder that was not docked there the night before."

"So they've left Coruscant," Cody said slowly, examining this new information in his head. "It's unlikely that they're still in-system, but the picket line would have picked them up on sensors and –"  
His comlink crackled to life. "Commander Cody," it was the Sergeant assigned to his squadron, "We've received a garbled transmission from the _Subjugator_ in orbit above the planet."  
"Patch it through."  
The message was cluttered with static, but words began to filter through. "…Bridge Commander Kaph…. Imperial Star Destroyer _Subjugator_. I …Priority One…Commander Cody of High Command."  
"Can you clean that up?" Cody snapped. He was normally more collected but this whole mission had them all on edge.  
"We're trying, sir," the Sergeant replied. "We're still working on reestablishing the communications array. Right now we can only receive the transmission." He spoke to someone on the side, his voice muffled as he turned away from the comm, and then said, "I think we've got it, sir."  
The comm clicked loudly, and then, "Repeat: this is Bridge Commander Kaph of the Imperial Star Destroyer _Subjugator_. I have a Priority One message for Commander Cody of High Command. Do you copy?"  
Cody straightened, letting authority reflect within his tone as he announced into the comlink, "This is Commander Cody, Bridge Commander Kaph. What is your message?"  
He could picture the Bridge Commander unconsciously adjust his posture as he was addressed by a superior. "Sir, our orbital perimeter was breached at approximately 0900 hours local time."

Cody blinked in disbelief, even as his stomach dropped at the prospect of failing in his duty. "That was over _fourteen hours ago_, Bridge Commander," he reprimanded harshly.  
Kaph clarified hastily, "I know, sir, I'm sorry, sir – but our communications were offline due to an unexplained anomaly on the planet's surface and we have just received a response from Coruscant HQ."  
"Understood. Continue, Bridge Commander."  
"Yes, sir. The ship was a small passenger vessel of unknown design. It broke the picket line by drifting underneath the _Subjugator_, where sensors are minimal. It then fired boosters and jumped into hyperspace with a very broad trajectory. We are working on it now, sir."  
Bridge Commander Kaph delivered his report as any soldier would, but Cody detected a slight inflection in his description of the unknown ship's antics. He had invented a theory – as any ARC in the same situation would do. Cody fully intended to hear it, but first he needed a few more details.  
"You said the ship was of unknown design. The sensors did not identify the craft at all?" Cody asked with a hint of skepticism.  
"Sir, we were lucky to _see_ the ship before it made the jump to lightspeed. I've never seen a pilot calculate hyperspace coordinates that fast – except once." Kaph added quietly.

_So that's it, _Cody remarked to himself. The Bridge Commander's behavior was shining a little more light on his personal theory of who had been flying that ship. Now Cody would ask for that theory, and he would know if Kaph was telling the truth. "You have a theory, Bridge Commander?" Cody said in a way that it was part statement, part question.  
Kaph hesitated for a moment. "Yes…sir… Sir, the only way that pilot would know about the minimal sensors on a Star Destroyer's underbelly would be if he or she had military experience. And the speed with which that ship determined jump coordinates was – unbelievable. The one time I saw that, sir…the maneuver was executed by a Jedi."  
Cody was impressed by the Bridge Commander's deduction. And he had to agree. Only a Jedi relying on their ambiguous "Force" would have the foreknowledge to make such a reckless move. If indeed this ship was the one Cody needed to find – which it most likely was – then he had to gain Bridge Commander Kaph's full cooperation. "So you believe the ship was piloted by a Jedi fugitive," he commented in a thoughtful tone. "And you have people working on a possible destination?"  
"Yes, sir."  
Cody nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Inform me immediately when you have it narrowed down."  
"Yes, sir. But – sir, with all due respect – what is going on down there?" Kaph sounded desperate for information. Cody could sympathize as a fellow soldier, but as a member of High Command and on a mission appointed by Emperor Palpatine, he had no time to indulge curiosity.  
Still, he offered blandly, "Soup's on but no one has the time." It was an old combat saying, one that every clone trooper knew from their primary education days on Kamino. It meant that something was happening, but no one seemed to know what. It meant, _'Watch your six.'_

As he had anticipated, Kaph took the hint. "Understood, sir. _Subjugator_ out." Cody lowered his arm, aware that the Intelligence officer was staring at him avidly, listening to the exchange.  
Cody fixed him with a dark-eyed glare, the half-moon scar on his face making him appear more menacing. The trooper looked down, cowed. Cody ordered firmly, "You are dismissed, INT-9417. And good work." The trooper glanced up swiftly, stunned by the compliment. He clambered from the desk and saluted, then hurried from the room. Cody sighed heavily, and opened a private channel on his comlink. "Meet me in the study." In less than a minute, the Sergeant entered, saluting respectfully. "Close the door, Sergeant," Cody instructed, rubbing the bridge of his nose between two fingers. The Sergeant complied at once and then removed his helmet, setting it on the desktop.  
"Are you all right, sir?" He asked tentatively. Cody looked over at him, staring into the most well-known face in the Empire – the face of every clone trooper. Cody might have been looking into a mirror, except that the Sergeant did not have a scar cutting across his right cheek.

"Do you have an unconventional designation, Sergeant?" An odd question to an outsider, but any clone would understand. An unconventional designation meant that a clone was known as more than a number or rank. Many had been given names – by the Jedi with whom they served.  
"Deuce, sir." A wan smile tilted his lips. "Jedi Master Shaak Ti called me that because she said I could see both sides of a problem and approach them differently."  
Cody nodded. "So – what is your analysis, Deuce?" He swept his arm around the study in an all-encompassing gesture, inviting another perspective.  
Deuce stood at parade rest, staring at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. "The probability that the ship Bridge Commander Kaph reported in is the Senator's missing skiff and is being flown by an escaped Jedi is high."  
"Extremely high." Cody concurred with his logic, leaning against the desk, the lightsaber on his belt shifting against his thigh. "It seems that if we locate this ship, we locate our lost Senator _and_ a Jedi Master."  
"But sir," Deuce spoke up, "A broad trajectory from that quadrant of space could take weeks to analyze, and by the time we get a fix on their location, they could be long gone."  
Cody glanced at him bleakly. "Exactly. But what else can we do? We work the mission until it's done – period." He hated how hopeless he sounded, and felt. Skywalker's lightsaber suddenly weighed very heavy on his leg, and a prickle of dread crawled along his spine. Reporting _another_ failure to the ruler of the galaxy was not something Cody wanted to do. Gazing down at the silvery hilt, he muttered to himself, "This hunt would be much simpler if Skywalker was here to give us a hand."

Deuce stepped closer, his mannerism cautious as he asked, "Permission to speak freely, sir?" Cody's eyes flicked up and he gave a slight nod. "I am not…entirely convinced that Skywalker is dead."  
The Commander raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded Deuce grimly. "And you base this assumption on what?" Despite that the very nature of this conversation was bordering on treason, Cody was genuinely intrigued by the Sergeant's statement. Deuce paused, worry deepening the lines on his forehead, and Cody looked at him expectantly. "Nothing you say will leave this room, Deuce – you have my word."  
With that, Deuce seemed to come uncorked. His expression grew earnest, and he moved closer, speaking quickly under his breath. "We have searched this apartment for fifteen hours and have not found Skywalker's body. True, the body may have been lost in the explosion or dumped into the city depths – but we did find the lightsaber. A Jedi is never without their lightsaber, so finding it does verify the claim of his death… But we have not taken into consideration that the weapon may have been lost, or left behind on purpose."

Cody pondered his next move carefully. Deuce had brought up an excellent point – but one did not stay in command very long if doubt was cast on the leader. The Emperor had pulled Commander Cody aside before his departure for Five Hundred Republica and pronounced that "Lord Vader" – aka Skywalker – was dead. He had said something about 'sensing his passing', which made him sound just like the Jedi he had ordered the clones to destroy. If Cody were any other man, he probably would have pursued other angles in this investigation, regardless of what Palpatine had told him. But Cody was an ARC Commander in the Imperial Army. He was not bred to second-guess orders. And yet…  
"You have a legitimate hypothesis, Sergeant," Cody admitted, and then his stare hardened. "But we have no reason to distrust our informant. If the Emperor says that Skywalker is dead, then he is dead."  
"Of course, sir." Deuce straightened and backed away, a soldier once more. "I meant no disrespect. It was only an assumption." He saluted, and said, "With your permission, sir, I would like to head back to the main floor and continue the investigation."

"Before you go, Sergeant – have the results from the blood sample tests come in yet?"  
Deuce withdrew a small datapad from the pack slung around his back and typed a few keys. "Not to the full extent – but the lab was able to determine a match for one of the samples. It seems that some of the blood belongs to Senator Padmé Amidala." He hit a few more keys. "Nothing has been confirmed on the second sample as of yet."  
_So the Senator had been wounded? _Cody was stumped. All of his conclusions were falling apart at the seams. Perhaps Amidala was not a collaborator with Kenobi, but a captive. That put the whole operation in a new light. He still had one nagging thought – and Deuce had proven to be an asset to the mission.  
"Off the record, Deuce – do you believe that if Skywalker is indeed still alive, that he could have been piloting the ship that slipped by the _Subjugator_?"

Deuce dropped his datapad in his pack and replied in all seriousness, "Skywalker was the best pilot in the entire fleet. Sneaking through a picket line of Star Destroyers would have been all too easy." Then he added, "If he were still alive." Deuce saluted again, and then departed. Cody leaned against the desk, his thoughts muddled in confusion. _If, if ,if._ Every fact pertaining to this mission seemed to begin with "if." Cody missed the certainties of the battlefield. Friend or foe, point and shoot. All of these grey areas were impossible to penetrate.  
His comlink trilled. "Commander Cody."  
"Commander," came the deep, smooth voice of Mas Amedda, the Vice Chair of the Galactic Senate. "The Emperor requests an update on the investigation at 0100 in his private office."

The prickle of dread morphed into an icy flood that filled his veins, but Cody answered impassively, "Understood, sir." The comm clicked off, and Cody glanced out of the viewport set into the far wall.  
The sky was deep cobalt, and the lights of the city paled the twinkling stars that appeared fleetingly through gaps in the lingering clouds. He checked his chronometer. 45 minutes until he was due to meet Palpatine.  
45 minutes to come up with a theory that would save his command – and quite possibly his life.  
------------  
Fear.  
It was the predator that stalked Anakin Skywalker from the moment he was old enough to understand the emotion. Since that day, it circled him endlessly, like a scavenger bird above a dying beast. Just waiting for its opening to strike – to entrap him in its iron jaws and devour his soul. The light could not help him defeat his nightmares, and so the fear grew, feeding upon his vulnerability. So he had turned to the dark. But it could not help him, either. The dark only made the fear stronger.  
And now he was neither light or dark, floating in the grey mists of limbo – and the monster that was his fear awakened from the slumber his angel had lulled it into, and bared its slavering fangs at the shard of hope sheathed inside his heart.

His face did not betray the desperate war he waged with fear. For all intents and purposes he was the anxious young husband, trying to be useful as his wife brought new life into their world. Anakin had been prepared to run all the way to Maternity with Padmé clutched in his arms when three med droids had burst into the conference room, accompanied by a floating stretcher. Placing his precious burden on the stretcher, the group had rushed through a labyrinth of corridors. Padmé had grasped his flesh hand the whole time, squeezing it painfully whenever a contraction stabbed into her body.

The droids had ushered them into the same exam room where he had glimpsed his unborn children while Obi-Wan was asked to remain outside. Anakin sent him a brief, worried glance over a shoulder before the door slid shut. He had helped move his wife from the stretcher to the bed, and a blue canopy rose above her lower body – a privacy shield for the birthing process, one of the droids gently explained.  
Anakin watched Padmé with wide blue eyes, marveling at her composure as she complied with MD-02's instructions in between contractions, which were now about 7 minutes apart. She amazed him. She knew the risks had multiplied, both to her and the twins. She knew that the labor was beginning much too early.  
She knew what had happened in his nightmare.  
Yet here she was – a pillar of strength as she listened to the droid's detailed account of how they would proceed. She had not cried out – not like she had in the conference room – but her eyes would close in fierce concentration when the pain held her in a vise grip, and tiny moans rose from her throat.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and velvety brown orbs held his stare with a warm glow. Anakin brushed tendrils of sweat-dampened hair from her flushed cheeks, and she smiled up at him. He managed a weak grin and lowered his eyes – and then he saw the silver chain around her neck, tucked under the collar of her hospital gown. Padmé lay still as gentle fingers probed her neck and withdrew the japor pendant, placing it reverently above her breastbone. His gaze was irresistibly drawn back to her face, and once their eyes met her expression changed, her fine eyebrows knitting together as she read into his mood. Anakin immediately glanced aside – but knew that he had been caught. Two slim fingers reached out and tenderly pushed golden tresses from his eyes, and he swallowed hard. The fear growled, vibrating in his bones, and he fought to recall Padmé's words about changing the future. Already the nightmare was rendered obsolete – the most obvious difference being that he was standing by her bedside instead of his old Master.  
"_You have to let go of your fear."_

Padmé felt the initial surge of tension into her muscles that signaled an approaching contraction, but she kept her focus on Anakin, cupping his cheek in her palm as she murmured, "Look at me." He shook his head just slightly, his hair falling over his eyes, and turned away. Her other hand snaked out and captured his face between her palms, saying again, "Anakin, look at me. Please." It was half-command, half-plea, and she knew that Anakin had neither the willpower nor the desire to deny her. Tentative blue eyes peered from beneath tousled strands of gold, and shades of his emotions sparkled in those orbs like a kaleidoscope.  
She saw the raw terror consuming his mind, along with the dwindling wish that she was right about his nightmares of her death. Salt water blossomed within her vision, and she whispered sadly, "Oh, Ani…"

Without a care for circumstances or propriety, Anakin swiftly bent over her, burying his face into her neck, pressing a kiss on the sensitive skin. "I can't bear to disappoint you," he whispered hoarsely into her ear. "Help me, Padmé. Please – help me let go of my fear. You're so strong…I don't know how you do it." He pulled away, and his gaze burned into her like blue stars, the passion simmering within giving her renewed energy. Pain washed over her, and she dropped her hands, worried that she might dig her nails into his cheekbones. Anakin clasped her hands within his own as if he wanted to somehow take the agony from her. Once the contraction eased, Padmé's exhausted thoughts remembered his words and she forced her eyes to open.

"I'm strong because of you," she replied softly, and gave his calloused fingers a weak squeeze. "We'll do this together, Anakin, and everything will be all right – you'll see. We are strong together." Her heart had been slashed deeply by Obi-Wan's cutting remark, for there had been many dark nights when she had lain awake, frightened that her love for Anakin would ruin his life, his dreams. But they were about to welcome their little hopes into the world, and she knew that whatever consequences she may have to pay – she would gladly pay them just to see their tiny, perfect faces, and fall asleep each night knowing that Anakin loved her. A fond smile curved her mouth, and she kissed his hand. "I love you."  
Anakin could only reply with the same passionate affirmation. "I love you, too." As med droids and Polis Massans scurried around, the two lovers sat uninterrupted – the calm in the eye of a storm – communicating in a way that transcended speech and even the mysteries of the Force. Anakin embedded his wife's soft promise into his subconscious, silently repeating it over and over to subdue the tremors wracking his strong frame as the fear howled for release. Padmé remained steadfast and focused for hours, breathing out the pain as best she could, as the contractions grew closer together and increasingly taxing on her weary body.

When the contractions were scarcely a minute apart, GH-7, the Head Medical droid of the MedCenter, floated over to the bedside near Anakin. He looked at the droid anxiously, still gripping Padmé's sweating hands and asked desperately, "How much longer will she have to keep this up? Isn't there something you can give her for the pain?"  
GH-7 rotated slightly to face him, speaking in a masculine tone that was believably sympathetic for a droid, "The labor is progressing very well, Jedi Skywalker. Your wife has dilated nearly 10 centimeters and both infants are shifting into the proper position for natural birth, so surgery should be unnecessary.  
Active labor will begin speeding up the process very soon. As for the pain – we did explain to Senator Amidala that there are several options available, but after relaying the risks involved, she refused all of them."

Anakin's head whipped around to stare wide-eyed at his wife. Her face was flushed and sweaty, purplish rings darkened the area around her eyes, and locks of damp brown curls clung to her cheeks and neck. But her lips flexed into the barest smile as she murmured tiredly, "It's a small price to pay for our babies." The next contraction was the most intense yet, and Padmé could not stifle her agony anymore.  
She let a scream erupt from her throat, and her eyes burned with hot tears.  
Anakin felt her scream rip through his heart, but he reached out and brushed her tangled hair from her forehead, whispering encouragingly, "You're so strong, Padmé – I'm so proud of you… Pretty soon you're going to be a mommy." She did not have the energy to form a reply, but her pain-clouded eyes opened halfway and his flesh hand sensed a brief squeeze from her fingers. His blue gaze flickered sideways and saw the midwife droid hovering at the end of the bed, along with GH-7.

MD-02 drifted over to the opposite side, near Padmé's head, and instructed calmly, "Milady, when the next contraction comes, you will need to push with it." She managed to nod just as another surge of pain enveloped her, and her muscles automatically started pushing before her brain could issue the command. She could hear a woman screaming, and she wondered dimly why her throat hurt. Fuzzy shapes floated in and out of her vision, and she clutched a large hand, using it as her center in this painful, disorienting world. The pain sharpened again, driving red-hot needles into her lower body, and she shrieked, the beads of sweat on her cheeks mingling with the tears that trickled from the corners of her eyes.  
Anakin watched the midwife droid move closer to the edge of the bed, and another droid zipped over holding a thick white towel. He craned his neck, struggling to see what was happening, but the privacy shield covering Padmé's legs blocked his view. He started to move towards that end of the bed, his fingers slick with sweat, when Padmé's grasp tightened convulsively. He jerked backwards in surprise, instantly returning to her side as she cried out frantically, "Don't leave me!"  
He shushed her tenderly, smoothing his fingertips over her forehead. "I'm not going anywhere, Padmé. I'll never leave you, I promise." He kept a fond smile on his lips though his heart thundered inside his ribcage over how warm her skin felt. Anakin watched her slender body sag with relief as the contraction ended, and kissed a crimson-stained cheek, taking comfort in her familiar scent.

"Milady, the first infant has crowned," GH-7 called enthusiastically. "One more push will complete the delivery."  
Anakin grinned, the excited twinkle in his blue eyes masking his fear as he said, "You hear that, Padmé? One more push!"  
Padmé was adrift on a sea of pain. Her body felt drained of all energy, like an empty husk, yet the muscles in her abdomen doggedly kept pushing, ushering their little ones into a new world. Helpless tears clogged her throat, and her husband's face swam hazily into view…and the concrete walls of her stalwart façade began to crumble. Pretending that she was not exhausted and scared was consuming the reserves of strength that she had left. "I'm so tired…" Padmé whispered, vainly attempting to hold back a sob, "I'm so tired, Ani. I don't know if I can push anymore…"  
"Yes, you can." Anakin pressed his palm against her cheek, leaning close until he filled her vision, and she felt his breath on her face. "You can do this, Padmé. I'm right here with you." Her muscles bunched tightly together, signaling another agonizing contraction, and Padmé clamped her mouth shut to bite back a scream. "Push, Padmé!"  
The scream parted her lips as her body complied of its own accord, and white light exploded behind her eyelids, the pain intensifying beyond anything she had experienced…

…And the mewling cry of a newborn interrupted the sudden silence her scream had left in its wake.  
It was the most beautiful sound Padmé had ever heard.  
She weakly strained to lift her head, but she could not see past the privacy shield. "What –" She licked dry lips and asked, "What is it? Ani?" Her gaze slowly moved sideways, but Anakin was oblivious to her words. He stood motionless beside her as if in a trance, staring wide-eyed at the far end of the room.  
Tiny whimpering noises filtered to Padmé's ears, but it seemed to her that a newborn should make more of a racket. Worry coiled around her thudding heart, and she struggled to touch her husband's arm. "Ani?"  
The midwife droid suddenly floated into view above the privacy shield, holding a squirming bundle of white, and Padmé's air left her in a rush. "Isita oido."  
Padmé's forehead wrinkled slightly in confusion, and then Anakin's husky voice murmured, "It's a boy." Her heart swelled in her chest, and the emotions she felt blossomed into a starburst of colors within her soul. Her firstborn was a son. She had given her Ani a son. The midwife droid finished cleaning him off and bobbed slowly over to Anakin, offering him the small bundle. He glanced quickly at Padmé, blue eyes fever-bright with anxiety, but she tilted her chin, encouraging him. He timidly opened his arms, and the midwife droid promptly deposited the infant into his embrace and hurried back to the end of the bed, preparing for the arrival of the other twin. Padmé basked in the brief calm, a joyful smile illuminating her countenance as their son's meek cries ceased the instant he was cradled against his father's broad chest.

Anakin Skywalker had seen many things in his short life – some too wondrous to describe and others that he did not care to remember. But none of those moments could compare with holding his newborn son for the very first time. To escape the stares and whispered remarks of his peers while he was growing up in the Jedi Temple, Anakin would occasionally sneak away to the Nursery where the newest members of the Order dwelled. It had been a peaceful, secluded refuge for him, and infants of various ages and species had always been glad to see him. Their innocent eyes had never judged him. As an only child, Anakin had never really interacted with little ones, and he was always amazed by how those would-be Jedi felt within the Force. The youngest glowed like tiny white flames, regardless of their potential. As they matured, the white light began to reflect other colors, from intense blue to the palest yellow. Anakin would speculate that the colors represented a child's developing personality, and how that affected the ways with which they could use the Force.

Even though Anakin was unable to sense his son, he was certain that no star burned brighter than the newest Skywalker. His skin was red and wrinkled, but his tiny hands and feet stopped flailing as his unaccustomed eyes peered up at the dark shape contrasting with the harsh white light. Fine blond hairs encircled the crown of his head, and Anakin felt his mouth quirk into a lopsided grin as he glimpsed the barely visible cleft in his son's round chin.  
"Talk to him, Ani." At the sound of Padmé's soft voice, their son's head struggled to turn in that direction. Anakin bent over slightly, giving his wife her first good look. He watched her exhausted face light up, and she slowly raised a hand to caress the baby's cheek. "Hi there," she murmured happily, and her smile widened as her firstborn cooed in response. She laughed faintly, brown eyes glancing at her husband. "He has your chin."  
A shadow fell across them, and all three family members looked over at Administrator Tuun. "Congratulations," he said warmly, "To both of you." Anakin noticed that he held a small datapad, and his head tilted sideways, pondering its uses, until Tuun asked, "What name have you chosen for him?" He was looking directly at Anakin, waiting for a reply.  
Padmé resisted the urge to chuckle when she saw the expression on Ani's face – the one that said he had absolutely no idea what to do. His indigo eyes dropped to stare at her pleadingly, and she addressed the Administrator with a quiet, firm voice. "Luke."  
Tuun entered the name into his datapad and slowly backed away from the bed, while Anakin gazed down at little Luke. "Luke Skywalker," he announced lightly, testing the name on his tongue. "I like it."  
A shrill whine echoed from one of the panels on the wall, and Anakin spun around to look in alarm. "What is that?" He asked worriedly.  
And then Padmé cried out hoarsely.

"The labor is resuming, Jedi Skywalker," MD-02 replied in its maddeningly calm tone.  
Anakin swiftly handed Luke to another med droid and took Padmé's outstretched hand, grasping it tightly.  
She screamed again – weaker than the last time – and fear jolted Anakin's nerves like white-hot electricity when he overheard MD-02 call to GH-7, stating, "She's losing too much blood."  
Tuun immediately came over to the young couple, feeling empathy for this vibrant young man. "Blood loss is normal during childbirth, Jedi Skywalker," he spoke reassuringly, hoping to soothe Anakin.  
Anakin glanced back at Padmé, the fear whispering that she seemed paler – but he silenced it by wordlessly repeating his wife's phrase: _"We are strong together."  
_Instinct drove Padmé to push, and she reached deep inside her being to find the strength she needed to guide their daughter into the world. The salt streaks on her cheeks were once more damp with tears, and her throat felt raw as she screamed. This time she was joined by a high-pitched wail, and Padmé felt her entire body relax like a wrung-out rag, sleep enticing her to rest. But she couldn't sleep – not yet. The wails continued even as the midwife droid rose into view, holding a writhing white bundle, and said in its soft-spoken alien dialect, "Isita oida." It placed Luke's twin sister into Anakin's eagerly awaiting arms, and he hurried back to Padmé's side, noting abstractly that several med droids were still stationed around the far end, moving quickly. Then his bawling daughter captured his full attention.

Her small red face was scrunched up as she howled at the top of her lungs, tiny fists clenched in front of her chest, and Anakin thought she was adorable. A thatch of dark hair crowned her head, and he jiggled her slightly in his arms, murmuring gently, "Shh…it's okay…Daddy's here…" She squeaked, cutting off in mid-wail, and squinted up at him. He lowered her towards her mother, and Padmé smiled faintly, her hand shaking as she touched their little girl's forehead.  
"You know your Daddy, don't you?" Padmé remarked weakly, fighting to keep her eyes open. Her lips twitched into a tiny smile, and she asked, "What name have you chosen, Ani?"  
As she had expected, Anakin's blue eyes blinked at her in shock. "Me?"  
"Yes, you. Name our daughter, Ani."  
He stared down at the youngest member of his family thoughtfully as she shifted against his chest, and a name drifted to the surface of his mind. It was the name he had picked while trying to fall asleep after Padmé had shared her exhilarating news – had that really only been a few days ago? He had planned to share it with her in the morning…but…  
Twisting away from the dark pull of his nightmare, Anakin grinned proudly and declared, "Leia."

Padmé's head tilted, and her smile grew as she said, "Leia Skywalker. It's a beautiful name." Her eyelids fell of their own accord, and something pressed into her diaphragm, making it harder to breathe. She sucked in short gulps of air, whispering feebly, "Luke and Leia. They're perfect…" Padmé gasped, her eyes snapping open as her lungs constricted. Naked fear blanketed her bleached face, and she called out helplessly, "Ani…?"  
Chaos flooded the room.  
------------  
Hope had reentered the universe, and Obi-Wan felt privileged to witness its arrival, embodied by two small babies. Expanding his restricted scope of the Force into the exam room had pushed the Jedi Master to the brink of mental exhaustion, and for a moment he thought it was all for naught when the only thing he could sense was Padmé's pain. He had almost withdrawn to escape her physical agony, but he resolved to endure the echoes if only to glimpse the newborns within the Force.

The birth of Anakin's son was more breathtaking than any sunrise Obi-Wan had ever seen.  
The little one's pure, unbridled Force potential blazed as brilliantly as a star, and he observed wisps of rudimentary thought brush against Padmé and the empty spot that was Anakin. Incredibly, the boy still recognized his father and reclined quietly in his arms. The Jedi Master was puzzling over that even as the second twin – a girl – joined the Skywalker family. She shone with Force potential just as fiercely as her brother, and Obi-Wan noticed that she appeared to be reacting to Padmé in a way the other infant had not. She was obviously and visibly distraught as she was carried away from her mother, yet she seemed to relax the moment Anakin cradled her tiny body against his chest. But the Force was stirring strangely inside the room, flavored by a hidden danger, and both babies responded to it with a sensitivity that amazed Obi-Wan. Padmé's face turned white, and her chest rose and fell rapidly. Alarms began screeching from the monitors on the wall, and med droids swarmed around the bed as Administrator Tuun approached Anakin, who looked as if he was in shock.

Tuun was speaking to the young man, and Obi-Wan saw his old friend pale, ice-blue eyes freezing with fear, and the child in his arms began wailing inconsolably. A few seconds later her sibling joined in the chorus, his howls mingling with hers in near-perfect unison. Obi-Wan ran to the doorway, determined to burst inside and demand to know what was going on, but the door refused to open. He dashed back to the viewing area and slapped his palm on the glass, trying to draw anyone's attention.  
Tuun's inky black orbs stared at him from the across the room, and he held up a single finger, signaling the Jedi Master to wait. Obi-Wan watched as the Polis Massan gently extricated Anakin's daughter from him and handed her over to the midwife droid, then spoke again to him. Anakin seemed to nod slowly, and then he fell to his knees by his wife's bedside as if his legs could no longer support him. Dismay seeped into Obi-Wan's blood as he gazed at Anakin's kneeling form, and he remembered the younger man's confession.  
"_I saw her die – giving birth to our child."_

The hiss of depressurized air filled the suddenly oppressive silence, and Obi-Wan quickly spun to face the Administrator. "What's happening in there? What's wrong with Padmé?" His words seemed to tumble over one another, and his heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears.  
"Senator Amidala," Tuun began, his tone saturated with regret, "has gone into hypovolemic shock. There were complications during the second twin's birth and she has lost a significant amount of blood. We are doing all we can for her, but… But we do not have the blood supply needed to replenish her body."  
"Could you take blood from me? From Anakin?" Obi-Wan asked frantically.  
"You are recuperating from significant injuries, Master Kenobi," Tuun chastised grimly. "Blood loss would endanger your health. As for Jedi Skywalker – I did make that suggestion, but I'm afraid he has gone into shock. The only thing he did was mumble something about 'not letting it happen again'."  
Obi-Wan's storm-colored eyes slid sideways to stare through the transparisteel at Anakin's hunched form. He was clinging to Padmé's limp hand, pressing it against his forehead, and even at this distance Obi-Wan could tell that he was shaking uncontrollably. The twins' wailing continued unabated – sensing their mother's physical distress and releasing their fear for her through the only means that they had available.  
And Obi-Wan feared for Anakin.

His emotional stability hinged upon the welfare of his beloved wife, and without the Force he could not protect Padmé as he had initially intended. If the worst should happen… The Jedi Master barely suppressed an icy shiver that raised the tiny hairs on his arms. Without Padmé, Anakin would fall – not to the dark side, but into the black depths of depression…and insanity. Obi-Wan doubted that even he and the twins would be able to sustain him after such a devastating loss. But…  
_What can he possibly do to help her now?  
_Even as the morbid thought materialized, the Force suddenly became silent – as if all noise had disappeared from the universe. Obi-Wan froze, muscles tensing with wary anticipation, and the Skywalker twins had grown absolutely still, their eyes open wide like they were waiting for something only they could perceive. Anakin's chest heaved with a shuddering breath – Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed as he looked at the younger man. His lips seemed to be moving, almost like he was praying. Then he raised his face upwards, tears streaming from beneath closed eyes –  
And what happened next changed the fate of the galaxy forever.  
------------  
Anakin would give anything to be proven wrong.  
It was not an easy concept for him to admit, but it was true nonetheless. Pride was what had led him into the black mire of fear and obsession, and he had willingly grasped the lifeline Palpatine had thrown to free himself from it. But that lifeline morphed into iron shackles of servitude and moral depravity – and in despair, Anakin had assaulted the Force, blindly hoping that its destruction would somehow release him. Now his angel was fighting for her life, and he could do…_nothing_.  
Being the second-most powerful Jedi within the Order had been a rush for Anakin. Oftentimes, it seemed as if there was nothing he could not do – no deed that was beyond his reach. He felt like the god his fellow students had viewed him as, and the sensation only fueled his pride. But the god had fallen, been stripped of his powers…and now he existed as a mere mortal, aware of the measureless strength that used to infuse his body, but no longer able to wield it. Even to save the woman who was his soul.

Med droids swarmed around her like giant metal butterflies orbiting a flower garden, the drone of their repulsors mingling with the shrill, steady whine of the health monitors. Anakin could not hear Padmé's weak gasps above the din, so he watched her chest expand and deflate in short, quick bursts, her skin nearly as colorless as her hospital gown, dark curls pooling around her shoulders. Then the increasingly familiar form of Administrator Tuun blocked his view, and he was forced to look into that disconcerting, blank face.  
"Jedi Skywalker," his soft-spoken voice drifted over the shrieks emitting from the tiny bundle nestled in Anakin's arms, "your wife has gone into hypovolemic shock, which means that she has lost a significant amount of blood during the second twin's birth. We are going to give her intravenous fluids to stimulate her body to regenerate red blood cells, but it will take time for the fluids to have any effect. What she needs is a blood transfusion, but our facility does not carry human blood in storage." Anakin felt a long-fingered hand touch his shoulder. "Anakin…I am truly sorry, but – if the Senator does not receive new blood within the next ten minutes, she will die. I'm sorry."

Life drained from Anakin as all color seeped from his cheeks, and his heart floated on an icy sea of numbness. The nerve endings in his arms deadened, and the precious treasure cradled between them began to slip. He was dimly aware of Tuun gently removing Leia from him, her wails filling the room in concert with Luke, and the Administrator spoke again. "We may be able to extract some of your blood and give it to your wife after it is filtered through a purifier. Would you be willing to do that?"  
Anakin did not hear him at all.  
Fragments of coherent thought started to surface through the numbness, and one in particular rose above the rest, and exited his mouth in a single, whispered sentence. "I won't let this happen again."  
"Anakin?"  
Desolate, ice-blue eyes focused on Administrator Tuun, and the young man nodded slightly.  
Tuun knew from experience that Anakin was not responding to his question. The Jedi hero was absorbed in shock, and the only world that he perceived was the one he saw in his mind. Tuun headed to the door, ready to address the frantic questions of Master Kenobi, while Anakin heard the sorrow-choked vow made four years ago at his mother's graveside echo in his head.  
"_I wasn't strong enough to save you, Mom. I wasn't strong enough. But I promise – I won't fail again."  
_And then the fraying threads of willpower snapped, and Anakin's knees hit the floor with a jarring thump. Yet he felt nothing.  
He _was_ nothing – without her.

Hopeless emptiness cloaked his spirit in grey fog, and the creature known as fear began stalking toward the tiny spark, whose light sputtered like a candle flame in the wind. He heard Luke and Leia's frightened cries, and the sound heated his freezing blood, filling him with reluctant determination.  
Anakin fell deep inside himself, his resolve to try and touch the Force drastically waning with each beat of his heart. He clung to the belief that he would somehow find a way for his family to be together – that his little stars would not grow up without their mother.  
When all was quiet, like the waters of a still pond, Anakin timidly opened his mind to the vacuum created by the absence of the Force. He felt as if he had been swallowed by nothingness; all sound disappeared – even the rapid thudding of his heart, yet he stubbornly expanded his consciousness into the void, searching for any trace of the mystical energy field that had named him its Chosen One.  
There was only empty space.  
Anakin cast off his timidity and stretched his perception to the brink, sweat trickling down his temples, and silently pleaded for a reply. None came.  
_Please…  
__I have to save her.  
_He felt the outer fringes of his mind begin to strain under the pressure, and pain erupted behind his eyes.  
_I won't let her die!  
_Tendrils of thought weakened, and started to crack, and Anakin's perception reached its limit. It dwindled like curls of smoke rising from a snuffed candle and, utterly spent, Anakin returned to full awareness.

Opening gritty, swollen eyes, he squinted in the bright glare of the exam room and crawled on hands and knees towards Padmé. Slowly, he reached up and tenderly clasped her limp hand, pressing her knuckles to his forehead like a subject swearing fealty to their sovereign.  
Memories of Padmé revolved past his mind's eye like shards of colored glass. Padmé, as a slender dark-haired girl, walking into Watto's shop and leaving with his heart. Padmé, tucking a blanket around him and accepting his humble gift with genuine compassion. Padmé, standing in the swamps of Naboo, proclaiming that she was the Queen. Padmé, clothed in white regalia, sharing with him a bright smile of celebration. Padmé, looking up at him with uncertainty after he called her beautiful. Padmé, telling him not to look at her with all the passion he felt because it made her uncomfortable. Padmé, clad in a gossamer pastel gown that caressed her soft skin, offering her lips to his kiss. Padmé, her delicate features bathed in firelight, refusing to love him for the sake of duty and obligation. Padmé, sitting beside him in the Lars garage, guiding him back from the black rage with her gentle, strong light. Padmé, brown eyes glistening with emotion in the face of impending death, softly admitting that she loved him. Padmé, standing before him on a stone veranda drenched in the topaz glow of sunset, wrapped in ivory lace, pledging herself to him as his wife. Padmé, slumbering peacefully by his side, his skin still burning from her touch. Padmé, joy illuminating her expression, whispering that she was pregnant. Padmé, brushing her chestnut curls and daydreaming about the home where they would raise their baby. Padmé, murmuring gentle words of comfort after his nightmare tore apart the fabric of his universe. Padmé, firm and caring in the wake of his growing paranoia. Padmé, opening her arms while blue-grey sheets of rain draped around her body. Padmé, reassuring him of her unwavering devotion and trust in him.

All these facets of memory and countless others flashed through Anakin's mind, faster and faster, until they became like falling stars, briefly lightening the twilight of his heart with fleeting glimpses of happiness.  
The galaxy could not be without Padmé Amidala. She was the most selfless individual Anakin had ever met. She gave of herself to people whom she would never know, would never meet, sacrificing her own personal hopes and dreams to preserve those of her people and the Republic as a whole. She was more of a Jedi than Anakin could ever hope to become.  
She was preparing to resign her position in the Senate to raise his children. She was willing to risk her life to deliver their twins safely. It was a price she would gladly pay – he saw it in her eyes after GH-7 told him that she refused all pain medications during the labor.  
She would sacrifice everything that she was…for _him_.  
_Him_ – a temperamental, often-absent, secretive husband who helped destroy the principles and the government she sought to uphold. A traitor, a murderer, a liar… And she still loved him.  
She sacrificed everything _because_ she loved him.  
And then Anakin realized what he must do.

The fear snarled angrily as his intentions were unveiled, and it sunk razor-sharp talons into his heart, bent on the single-minded campaign to eliminate the spark harbored inside. Anakin ignored its rasping growls and dove once more into the vast, blank ether. As his consciousness was fully submerged, he focused every fiber of his being – all that he was – on two words. He held them in his heart, and then projected them into the soundless vacuum, saturated with the emotions that overwhelmed his rationale.  
Two words that must be said.  
_Forgive me.  
_The syllables reverberated endlessly through the void, and although the emptiness seemed to close in around him, Anakin let the spark fill his senses, and words poured forth like crystalline water.  
_Please…help me save Padmé. Don't take her light from the galaxy. She is needed here. I am the one that deserves to die. Take me instead of her. Please save her…and forgive me for all that I have done. Please…_

A low thrum began to rise, like pounding drums resounding within caverns of rock, and the noise built inside Anakin, vibrating in his bones. The fear let out an ear-splitting roar that deafened him –  
Then the void exploded with white light.  
This time, he did not cringe away from the brilliance, nor did he recoil from the heat of the flames that encircled him. He peered into the light's epicenter as the thrum filled his ears, and saw his angel there – just as before. Her presence flowed around him and through him like the water that spilled from the waterfalls on Naboo, and tears moistened his cheeks as the intoxicating feeling of wholeness that he sensed only when he was with her washed over him. Anakin reached for her, and the glare intensified, as did the white flames licking at the edges of his mind. He wrapped himself around Padmé, shielding her from the immense concentration of power, and raised his head, eyes closed…and surrendered.  
------------  
With a sudden, immense gasp for oxygen, Padmé's inert body lurched atop the bed, her fingertips extending out like rays of light as energy surged into her waning essence. A pair of velvety chestnut orbs flared open in perfect unison with eyes the color of a summer sky, and Padmé's head lolled to the side as Anakin staggered to his feet. He was still clutching her hand between his palms, the metal digits on his artificial hand warm from prolonged contact with her skin. His tanned face seemed pale in the stark glare of the exam room, but his lips bowed into a soft smile, and he gently tugged her hand to his chest, pressing it palm down over his heart. Padmé felt her forehead crinkle in confusion. Her thoughts were hazy, like she was walking through a fog-filled night, and she sensed movement all around her, as well as abstract noises that she could not identify. She struggled to lift her head, blinking to clear her blurred vision, and glimpsed several silvery shapes floating here and there. "What…?" Padmé croaked out as she tried to prop herself up on her elbows.

"Easy," Ani's deep voice flowed like honey down her parched throat, and a large hand cradled the back of her head, the fingers threading through her tangled curls as the other tenderly pushed her to lie down. "It's all right, Padmé. You're going to be just fine."  
Her confusion increased tenfold, and she stared up at her husband's face, seeking an explanation. There was something wrong with her? She did not remember anything like that. And what was she doing here anyway? Padmé's brows drew together as she commanded her muddled brain to function. The last thing she recalled was –  
She fought to sit up, calling out anxiously, "The twins!" But a firm grasp held her shoulder in place.  
"They're both fine, Padmé, I promise." Something in his tone caused Padmé to glance at him, and when their stares connected she felt a current of electricity leap between them, illuminating the deepest part of her heart. It was like some unforeseen reaction had taken place, and in each of their souls they sensed a profound understanding – yet it was something neither of them could hope to communicate.  
Anakin's adoring cerulean gaze held a secret, and yet it was not a secret, because in some mysterious way Padmé already knew. And it only filled her with more confusion, as well as heightened her frustration.  
"What happened?" She demanded with an uncompromising expression.

Anakin blinked at her with genuine surprise. "You don't remember?" Her dark head timidly shook from side to side, and thousands of unspoken questions lingered within her brown eyes. He did not know if he could give her any answers. What he did know beyond a shadow of a doubt was that he almost lost her – and by some miracle his angel had been spared.  
Not only that, but he could sense her now.  
It wasn't by using the Force – no, he remained cut off from the rest of the universe. It was far deeper than simply brushing her signature with a momentary tendril of thought. Their souls had become entwined, and the bond they shared had transformed into an irrevocable link that Anakin did not fully comprehend.  
He suspected that the reason Padmé felt so disoriented was that his feelings were merging with hers, and she did not have the mental training of a Jedi to find her center amid the chaos in a myriad of overlapping emotions. He did not know what possible repercussions this bond could have in the future – but for now, in this moment, they were together. Stronger together, just like she had said.

"Ani?" His angel was on the verge of impatience, staring expectantly up at him as she awaited his reply. He reached out and brushed his knuckles across her cheek, a pink glow slowly painting the ivory softness. The imposing tilt of her chin eased in the aftermath of his caress, and the sound of a clearing throat drew Anakin's attention away from his wife and to Administrator Tuun, who stood on the opposite side of the bed.  
His oval-shaped, white face looked down on her as he inquired softly, "How are you feeling, Milady?"  
"A little tired, and sore." Padmé smiled ruefully, "But I suppose that's to be expected."  
"Any nausea, dizziness, shortness of breath?"  
Padmé turned slightly to meet Tuun's inky black gaze, bemused by his questions. "No… Why do you ask? What happened?"  
Tuun hesitated briefly, and then replied in his quiet manner, "Milady, during the birth of your daughter you lost nearly one-fifth of the blood in your body. You went into hypovolemic shock, and we were doing all we could to save you without the ability to give you a transfusion. We were failing. I feared that we would lose you, but –" He glanced at Anakin, and then continued, "Suddenly your blood pressure jumped, and all of your vitals returned to normal." He spread his arms almost helplessly. "We can't explain it." Again, he looked over at Anakin fleetingly and, receiving no response other than the barest grin, Tuun focused completely on the Senator. "Regardless of the 'whys and wherefores', I am gladdened by your miraculous recovery, Milady. If you will permit me to finish checking your pulse and a few other basic functions, I will have MW-001 bring your babies to you immediately."

Padmé granted him permission with a small nod, and as the Administrator's long fingers curled around her wrist, she turned widened eyes on her husband. A brush with death was an experience Padmé had dealt with in the past, but the specific incident had never been so accurately predicted beforehand.  
She would have died in childbirth, just as Ani had choked out on the night he came home after witnessing it in his nightmare. Yet she was alive – obediently sticking out her tongue so Administrator Tuun could examine her throat. Somehow, their misfortune had been averted – which meant that Padmé's earlier thoughts on predestination were correct. The future was not set – at least not completely – and that was where her mind discarded the thread of thought into the ether. She was exhausted, and she would leave the circumspect evaluations of fate for another time.  
Administrator Tuun instructed Padmé to unbend her knees, and then he lowered the privacy shield encircling her abdomen. The muscles in her legs tingled uncomfortably as blood flowed in a new direction, but it only served as a minor distraction as Tuun said with a note of satisfaction, "You are recovering well, Milady. Again, I offer my congratulations, and I will leave you both to get acquainted with your younglings." He motioned aside to the midwife droid, who complied at once with the signal and floated forward, expertly holding two tiny infants. Consumed as they were by the twins' arrival, neither Anakin nor Padmé saw Tuun silently slip from the room and approach the motionless form of Obi-Wan Kenobi, whose face was hidden by the dim glow of the hallway.

Padmé began to reach out for one of the twins when the sudden ache in her abdomen caused her arms to fall back to her sides in defeat. Glancing sideways at Anakin, she remarked unhappily, "I guess I'm not as recovered as the Administrator thinks."  
Anakin stroked her cheek, his blue eyes as warm and calm as a tropical sea, and said in hopes of placating her, "You just gave birth to two babies, Padmé. You're probably going to be sore for a few days. I'm sure you'll be feeling like your old self in no time." It was such a pragmatic and practical statement – so _not_ like Anakin at all – that Padmé looked up at him introspectively, her dark eyes studying him with mild fascination.  
"Why, Anakin Skywalker," she announced, a playful sparkle lighting up her gaze, "I do believe that I am finally having a positive influence on you."  
To her gleeful amazement, he blushed, ducking his head a little in that sweet way she hadn't seen since he was a Padawan. When he looked back at her through lowered eyelashes, running his thumb intimately over her lips, she was acutely reminded that he was no longer that intriguing mixture of man and boy, but her husband. "More than you know," he murmured lovingly, a quirky half-smile lifting the corner of his mouth, and his compelling stare drifted away as one of the twins gurgled for attention.

Padmé took a moment to catch her breath; Anakin's passionate sapphire-blue stare never ceased to heat her blood in a way she could not have imagined possible. Truly, it was a wonder that she had not gotten pregnant sooner. Embarrassed by her own musings, Padmé giggled silently, hoping that her flushed face concealed her discomfiture. Sensing a flicker of amusement that did not come from him, Anakin peered over his shoulder at his wife, but her expression was serene as she shifted her awareness to the twins.  
Anakin spotted MD-02 by one of the monitor panels and motioned the med droid over, asking, "Is there a way for my wife to hold the babies without hurting herself?"  
"Of course, Jedi Skywalker." MD-02 floated to the bed, touching a button hidden underneath.  
A quiet humming filled the room, and Padmé felt her back start to lift up, slowly moving her body into a reclining position. Once the motion came to an end, Padmé eagerly turned towards the midwife droid, holding open her arms with an excited grin.  
Anakin chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Which one would you like to see first?"  
"Luke," came the instant reply. Without another word, Anakin gently removed his tiny son from the midwife droid and placed him in his mother's arms. And then he watched, settling himself on the edge of the bed. Padmé's lovely face lit up as Luke sleepily blinked up at her, and she tucked the white blanket more securely around his small body. "Oh, Ani," she said, just above a whisper, "he's so beautiful." She bent down and laid a kiss on Luke's downy head, and Anakin felt as if his heart would burst.

An annoyed grumble issued from the direction of the midwife droid, and the new parents glanced towards the source of the noise. Padmé laughed softly. "Leia thinks we've forgotten her." Smiling in agreement, Anakin leaned over and scooped his new daughter into his arms, and the midwife droid discreetly drifted to the far side of the room, having completed its appointed task. Once Leia realized that her father was cradling her tiny form, the indignant frown wrinkling her round face vanished, and she nestled deeper into her blanket in contentment.  
Padmé moved her son's feather-light body slightly, and looked at Anakin just in time to see his bright, lopsided grin. He jiggled Leia gently, folding a stray corner of the blanket away from her face, and felt Padmé's eyes on him. He moved a shoulder questioningly, and asked, "Switch?"  
She nodded, and with some intricate maneuvering, the twins were transferred from one parent to the other.  
Infinitely tender fingertips smoothed the silky dark hair on Leia's head, and then caressed her soft, round cheeks. "My little princess," Padmé crooned, "So anxious to get out into the big world." Leia seemed to sigh as she received her mother's kiss, and then an enormous yawn stretched her tiny mouth. "Yes, you've had a hard day, haven't you," Padmé said with a smile, holding her daughter's small hand between thumb and forefinger. Then she let out a jaw-popping yawn of her own, and heard her husband's laughter.

"We've _all_ had a hard day," Anakin observed, and saw Luke's little eyelids fall closed as he nuzzled into his chest. "We should probably get some sleep." He cocked an eyebrow at Padmé, remarking wryly, "Who knows when we'll get to do it again." She laughed, and the sound filled him up pleasantly, echoing within his own heart.  
The warmth in her brown eyes changed subtly, and Anakin fell willingly into their dark depths. Holding Leia tightly in the crook of her arm, Padmé laid her palm on his cheek, and Anakin instinctively leaned in, Luke sound asleep against his chest. "I love you, Ani," Padmé whispered, mindful of their slumbering twins and with an overflow of emotion that stopped her from speaking any louder.  
He moved closer, a breath away from her lips, his unshaven jaw scratching her chin, and he whispered, "I love you, Padmé." Their kiss was soft and lingering – a tender celebration of love and of the two precious new lives their love had created. Stars continued to wheel throughout the universe in their eternal journey, and events continued to shape themselves around this one family…but for now, in this blissful, timeless moment, there was peace.  
------------  
The silent figure in the hallway did not acknowledge Administrator Tuun's arrival, but remained utterly motionless, holding his arms across his chest. Bearded face illuminated by the light from the exam room filtering through the transparisteel, Obi-Wan stared fixedly at the joyful scene unfolding before him. He sensed the Administrator come up beside him, but was not yet ready to initiate a conversation.  
Despite his tranquil outward appearance, Obi-Wan's heart was thundering rampantly in his eardrums, and his thoughts a whirlwind howling through his skull. He strived for calm, delving into the Force to help him regain his center, but fragments of what had just transpired ricocheted through the momentary stillness like blasterfire.  
Obi-Wan had watched the Living Force slowly ebb from Padmé with growing despair, and had found himself begging the Force to let her live – another forbidden action for a Jedi.  
And then, an explosion of white light.

He had tried to retreat from the blazing glare, but there was no place to hide from its brilliance. He felt the intense heat scorching the fringes of his subconscious, and then Obi-Wan had heard two words.  
They reverberated all around him, trembling the threads connecting all life like plucked strings. Like millions of voices chanting in the barest whisper, the words were so quiet, and yet the entire universe thrummed with every syllable.  
_Chosen One.  
_While the echoes were still traveling the ebony expanse between stars, the white light was swallowed by a human silhouette outlined with a silvery dusting like the arms of a spiral galaxy. An unnamed fear gripped the Jedi Master as the figure moved towards him, striding along a trail of stars, and Obi-Wan frantically sought to pull away, but the Force held him resolutely inside the vision. The figure stood before him, and slowly blinked its eyes. Blue orbs, lit by an inner radiance, gazed impassively at Obi-Wan, and the starlight-bathed outline of a man's face shimmered into focus. The man's mouth opened, and he spoke in a curious tone that sounded like the voices of a man and a woman blended as one, _"Jedi…it falls upon you to guide the course of destiny. See now, what weakness you can find, and cast no judgment or blame."_

And as confusion and an ambiguous sense of remorse welled up inside his heart, Obi-Wan instantly found himself standing outside the exam room on Polis Massa, watching Padmé's body heave as she drew in a massive breath and Anakin struggle to his feet. He did not know how long he had stood there, staring sightlessly at the new parents and their little ones, contemplating all possible meanings of his Force-gifted vision. He cautiously opened himself to the Force, and sent a wisp of perception into the midst of the Skywalker family, passing over the twins to focus solely on Padmé. What he sensed left him completely baffled.  
Padmé's quiet strength glowed within the Force – not as bright as to indicate sensitivity – but with a willpower and empathy that was all her own. And yet, lingering just out of sight, there was another presence. It hid behind the Senator's essence, almost as if she were casting a double shadow, and one was weaker, dimmer, than the other. Obi-Wan tried to isolate the differences between the two but found it nearly impossible – the thought patterns were so tightly interwoven that it could be interpreted as one mind. Then he caught a faint flicker of contrast, like alternating bands of color in a spectrum, and Obi-Wan latched onto it, determined to identify the source. There was no mistaking the flavor of youthful earnestness, the intensity of thought, or the determined confidence that permeated the muted presence.  
Obi-Wan sat back on his heels in disbelief.  
It was Anakin.  
But he was sensing his old Padawan _through_ Padmé – which was curious, to say the least. The young man continued to be an empty place in the Force, but when Obi-Wan concentrated on Padmé, he could find the familiar contours of Anakin's essence.  
Most curious.

"_See now, what weakness you can find, and cast no judgment or blame."  
_Ambiguity faded from his remorse, and the Jedi Master's shaded eyes fell as he recalled the harsh words he had spewed in anger within the conference room. _"You do not _belong _together, Anakin – do you understand that yet? What you feel for _her_ has made you vulnerable to the dark side!"_ Obi-Wan wished that he could take them back, but knew that such an action was beyond his power, or the power of any sentient being. Qui-Gon had warned him as a Padawan repeatedly about his self-righteous attitude, and Obi-Wan had thought that he had overcome it. But apparently, he was wrong. Blue-grey eyes timidly rose to observe the contented family inside the exam room, and Obi-Wan resolved to offer an apology – first to Padmé, then Anakin – fervently hoping that it would repair the damage he had thoughtlessly wrought.  
"…_it falls upon you to guide the course of destiny."  
_Whether or not his relationship with Anakin and Padmé was ever restored, Obi-Wan had been commissioned to aid them in whatever battles they may have to fight, or hardships they must endure.  
He only wished that Yoda were here now.

"Master Kenobi."  
Obi-Wan managed to cover up his surprise as Administrator Tuun's voice jerked his mind out of brooding. His gaze never wavering from the view behind the glass, he commented nonchalantly, "I see the Senator has recovered."  
"It is beyond my comprehension of modern science, Master Kenobi. Medically, Senator Amidala should have been unable to survive without a blood transfusion. And yet…" Tuun trailed off, gesturing with one hand towards the petite brunette as she smiled down at her newborn son.  
The Jedi Master spared him a glance. "The Force is often beyond comprehension, Administrator."  
Tuun turned to fully face him, breathing, "So Anakin _did _do something to save her."  
"No," Obi-Wan shook his head only once, his stare drawn automatically to his old friend's golden-haired head. "Anakin didn't do anything. The Force chose to save Padmé." His rigid stance relaxed slightly. _Though the reason why she was spared eludes me, _Obi-Wan thought to himself. He unfolded his arms and stepped away from the transparisteel, making a conscious effort to pull his gaze from Anakin and his family. "I believe I shall catch up on some much-needed rest."

"Do you not wish to offer your congratulations?"  
Obi-Wan absently fingered his beard, and then replied, "Not at the moment. I'll wait until we have all gotten some sleep." He headed for the doorway and paused at the threshold, sending one more indefinable glance over his shoulder at those within the exam room before exiting into the hall, the door sliding shut behind him.  
_I have some thinking to do.  
_------------  
The galaxy was in mourning.  
A heavy, grieving silence swathed the lives of countless beings like a black shroud, and many of them could never understand why – or even feel it at all.  
Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan understood the galaxy's plight all too well.  
Few would realize that the heart of their society, the conscience and spirit of their very way of life was dead. Slaughtered in one swift, brutal act of vengeance that had waited nearly one thousand years to take place.  
He witnessed the massacre with his own eyes – the horrific scene burned into his mind like a branding iron. To see a young Jedi Padawan – no more than eleven or twelve years old – viciously cut down by four clone trooper's blaster rifles after struggling to defend himself with a lightsaber was not something one easily forgot.

Bail had summoned his staff immediately, and ordered Captain Antilles to prepare the _Tantive IV_ for departure. Setting a random course through hyperspace, the Senator of Alderaan hoped to locate and possibly rescue numerous Jedi stationed across the Outer Rim. They had picked up Master Yoda just outside of the Kashyyyk system, having thwarted the attempt on his life by Commander Jordy.  
The diminutive Jedi had looked as if he had gone through hell – a grayish, pallid tint to his green skin, coupled with drooping pointed ears and eyes that encompassed the sorrow of a world told Bail that the worst had happened. The Jedi were gone.  
When the comm crackled with a transmission from Master Kenobi, stranded near the far-flung planet of Utapau, Bail had begun to have hope that this tragedy might yet be averted. The _Tantive IV_ returned to Coruscant, carrying a pair of fugitive Jedi who planned to enter the Temple and shut down the homing beacon that was calling all remaining Jedi home…to their deaths. Bail journeyed to the Senate Rotunda after parting ways with the Jedi Masters, and had listened to Palpatine's declaration of founding the Empire with a deadened heart. The shock no longer seemed to register anymore – even to Padmé Amidala of Naboo, who had murmured to him while their fellow Senators cheered.  
"_So this is how liberty dies…with thunderous applause."_

Bail had returned to his apartment at Five Hundred Republica with despondency, seriously considering how the small "rebellion" that he and his good friend Mon Mothma of Chandrila would survive in a galaxy controlled by the Sith – when Yoda suddenly walked through his door.  
The Jedi Master needed his help. He would face Palpatine in a duel, and he intended to win. But, if he should lose and escape with his life, Yoda asked Bail to aid him in his flight into exile. Eight hundred years of Jedi knowledge could not be allowed to perish or fall into the wrong hands. So Senator Organa agreed.  
He floated in his idling speeder behind an elegant spire a few blocks from the Senate complex, staring at the tiny communication device lying on his palm with a mixture of hope and dread, praying that Yoda would succeed in his self-appointed mission. And then the comm trilled shrilly.  
He caught the Jedi Master's small form outside of an access tunnel under the Rotunda; the sadness in his tone as he spoke of his failure clenched Bail's heart in an icy fist. They fled to Bail's ship and plotted a course to Dagobah, a Rim world that Yoda had chosen as his refuge. After the _Tantive IV_ dropped off its anonymous passenger, Bail anticipated a trip home to Alderaan, and to his wife, Breha. He had seen too much darkness in the last five days. A few weeks in her sweet company would refresh his soul, and the brisk, clean wind of the snow-covered mountains bordering the Palace would invigorate his determination to restore democracy to the universe.

Yoda had not spoken to anyone since the ship had entered hyperspace. Bail respected the old Jedi immensely and told his staff to leave him in peace. The ancient Master had lost many friends and students to Palpatine's treachery, and for the first time since they had left Coruscant, Bail wondered what had become of Master Kenobi. It was rumored that the Hero with No Fear, Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, had been among the dead within the Temple. Skywalker had been Kenobi's only apprentice and a good friend. Perhaps the Jedi Master had wanted a few minutes to grieve before disappearing into his own distant corner of the galaxy.  
Bail sank into a chair in the briefing room, running a large hand over his eyes. There were many dark days ahead for the galaxy and its many inhabitants. He wondered morbidly if even he would live long enough to see the rebirth of the Republic that the Jedi died fighting to preserve.

Faint tapping noises issued down the corridor.  
Senator Organa looked up in surprise as Master Yoda hobbled into the room, the expression on his face so foreign that it took Bail a moment to identify the emotion.  
It was hope.  
"Senator," Yoda said as he approached, and Bail felt compelled to stand in reverence, "A request I have." He placed both clawed hands atop his walking stick and looked up at Bail with wise eyes. "Divert our course from Dagobah, we must."  
Bail blinked. "Of course, Master Yoda, if that is your wish. What is our new destination?"  
"To Polis Massa – with all speed we must go."  
"The asteroid mining colony?" Confusion colored the Senator's every word. "With all due respect, Master Yoda – why there? What has happened?"  
Yoda's deep green eyes sparkled with mysterious knowledge, and his ears twitched slightly as he stated with quiet assurance, "Needed there, I am." He moved past Bail, and stood as motionless as a statue, gazing out at the whirling stars. When he spoke again, it was in the softest whisper.  
"Shifted, the balance has."


	15. Interlude Four: Redefinition

**Interlude Four  
**_**Redefinition**_

I am a father.  
Just saying the phrase out loud causes my thoughts to blur into a pleasant haze, forgetting that I should be asleep. But every time I try to succumb to my exhaustion, the smallest, seemingly insignificant detail will explode inside my mind – and I am left with no other choice than to lie awake and bask in the happiness warming my heart.

Padmé moves slightly, burrowing deeper into my arms, her cheek pillowed on my chest. I glance down at her dark head – a faint, silvery glow outlining the woven pattern of the loose braid she'd pulled her tangled curls into to keep the thick ringlets from falling in her eyes. It winds down the nape of her neck and over the arm I wrapped around her slender shoulders – a cord of the finest silk laying against my skin, and my angel alive and safe, sleeping beside me.  
I wonder for a fleeting instant if this is a dream, and the desire for rest flees. I would rather exist in a dream than face a reality without her in my life.  
Then her breath warms the hollow of my throat, the steady rhythm of her heart beating in harmony with mine, and I know that this is real…and I am overwhelmed.  
After all that I have done, and planned to do – I have been given everything that I have ever wanted.

I wanted to become a Jedi, and fight against the injustices surrounding me as a slave child on Tatooine.  
I wanted Padmé to love me – to hold my heart in her soft hands and shield it from my inner demons.  
I wanted us to raise a family, and live in a place where nothing could touch us…but love.  
There were other things that I thought I had wanted, but they evaporated like a chill fog defeated by the strong, bright rays of a rising sun. Those dark ambitions that had surfaced from the shadow of Vader have burned away in the steady gleam of the spark inside my heart.  
She fuels it merely with her presence, entwined so intricately with mine, and the tender echoes of her essence swirls around with such comfortable familiarity that I wonder if she has always been there – I just could not see her.  
And I am certain that she is what I have been missing all of my life – half of my heart, and my soul. I felt it the second her luminous brown gaze touched mine in that junk shop, and as a nine year-old boy, I could not understand the emotions that awoke within me.

"_Are you an angel?"  
_If she would only speak to me, I thought, then perhaps I would be able to control the feelings burgeoning inside my chest, causing my body to tremble and my heart to thunder rapidly in my eardrums.  
Yet when I heard her voice, something leapt within me – took flight and soared away from the thin white clouds garnishing the cerulean sky.  
I was scared.  
What does a young boy who dreams about Pod races and spends his free time building a protocol droid know about the passion between a woman and a man? I didn't even _think_ of girls in that way yet.  
Naturally I was incapable of defining exactly what happened to me as I talked with an angel.  
I think she felt it, too. Maybe not as strongly as I did, or in the same way – but now that I know her and share part of her soul… She was self-conscious and rather fidgety for a fourteen year-old ruler of a planet. She had said things to humor me, or fill the silence that unnerved her as I stared avidly, trying to memorize every curve of her face.

And the words burst out of me before I could stifle them.  
"_I'm going to marry you."  
_It was foolish, and my angel reacted, as I would expect any girl on the threshold of womanhood to do when confronted with the outrageous statement of a small boy. She laughed.  
I remember raising my chin defiantly as her tinkling giggles sparkled in the air, and she tried to work around my certainty with logic. I was only a little boy, after all… And although I did not know at the time, she was a Queen. It was just a silly notion from the mouth of a slave who desperately wished for freedom…only a little boy…  
"_I won't always be."  
_I will never forget the expression on her face as she absorbed the implications of those words.  
It was the same expression I saw ten years later, when I told her that she lived within my dreams.  
And then she was my wife.

If she had asked it of me, I would never have left her to fight in the war. I woke up on our last morning together before my first campaign, staring down at her slumbering form tucked into my chest, and I silently begged her to ask me to stay. One word from her lips, and I would give up my desire to become a Jedi, my friendship with Obi-Wan, my status as the fabled Chosen One – I would give up everything.  
"_I will do whatever you ask."  
_Shadows slither near the edges of my vision, and I barely suppress a shiver, the darkness of the room suddenly oppressive and malevolent.  
"_Just help me save Padmé's life. I can't live without her."  
_Admitting that piece of self-definition could very well have become the final nail in my coffin. Sidious never cared about me – I was only the next pawn in his game to control the universe. He would gladly see me lose the one person I care for more than my own life, and use that loss to reshape my shattered conscience into a creature that he could keep on a short leash. Like a faithful pet.  
My gut twists with anger and a smattering of revulsion, and I lay my cheek against Padmé's dark hair, breathing in the spicy-sweet fragrance until my churning thoughts subside. What could have been cannot change what is – and as my mind replays the events of the day, it turns once again to dwell on the new title I have received.  
I am a father.

Need colors my thoughts, and I feel my skin flush with a ripple of anxiety. I have to see them. I have to make sure they're safe and well.  
Carefully, I slide out from my angel's embrace, cradling her head in my palm and then laying it gently on my vacated pillow. She shivers a little, and I wrap our blankets around her, watching her face for any hint that she might be awakening. But she just nestles into the covers and slumbers on, and a brief sigh of relief puffs out from between my lips. Then my gaze is drawn to the tiny crib at the far end of the room and I pad over soundlessly, the floor icy under my bare feet, and peer down.  
Amid a nest of bundled blankets, scarcely visible in the faint light emanating from the viewport above, are a pair of the sweetest faces I have ever seen. I feel the corner of my mouth tilt upwards in a grin – which is swiftly becoming an automatic reaction whenever I see our babies, our little stars.  
They are so small, snuggled together in the crib, and in the dim starlight I can't tell them apart.  
Sleeping so soundly – a rare feat that can change in the blink of an eye – I watch their tiny bodies rise and fall with every little breath, and my flesh hand reaches out of its own accord, tracing my fingertips across each twin's forehead.

"I love you." Barely a whisper, yet the emotion behind that phrase seems to permeate the cool, filtered air of the MedCenter room.  
But it's not enough.  
I am so desperate to show my children that I love them, and to know that they love me – and against my better judgment I lean over and brush my lips on their soft cheeks. As I slowly withdraw, the silvery glow shimmers white on the crown of the nearest twin's head…and my son's eyes open.  
I freeze, dread filling me as I wait for his ear-splitting wails to break the stillness…but he is quiet, looking up at me with wide orbs that glimmer blue even in the muted light of the room.  
He regards me for a handful of heartbeats with a maturity and wisdom far beyond an eight hour-old infant – and I find that I cannot breathe, nor look away from his piercing stare.  
Then he blinks sleepily, his tiny mouth stretching open with a yawn…and the intensity sparking between us is severed, and he is my newborn son again. I chuckle under my breath, feeling a peculiar sense of relief and fold the blankets more securely around Luke, and then Leia. She makes a soft noise, like the coo of a dove, as my knuckle caresses her cheek.  
Once I am certain that Luke has gone back to sleep, I move away from the crib and gingerly settle my weight on the bed, fitting my body into the space beside Padmé.  
My teeth sink into my lower lip when her eyelashes flutter, and drowsy brown eyes look over at me.

"Can't sleep?" She murmurs hoarsely, smoothing the wrinkles on her pillow with her hand.  
I shrug, and shake my head slightly – a wordless gesture that tells her not to worry about me. She waits until I relax into the mattress, watching me with the same perceptive gaze that our son obviously inherited from her, and then she folds her body into mine.  
The tip of her nose nuzzles into my collarbone as she tucks her head under my chin, and instinctively my arms encircle her, and she draws the covers around us both. My chest lifts with a deep, peaceful breath, and she whispers warmly, "Go to sleep, Ani."  
Her sleepy, soothing mood pulls steadily at my wakeful mind – and finally I allow myself to fall into dreamless rest, lying in the safe harbor of my angel's arms, and the words resound one last time through my head as I drift away…  
_I am a father._


	16. Fogged Glass

**Chapter Eleven  
**_**Fogged Glass**_

The lights of Galactic City burned ceaselessly, and winked at Commander Cody as a gunship carried him towards the heart of the capital. The tiny, flickering orbs of white and yellow seemed to taunt the clone – as if they knew he was standing on the vibroblade's edge. He scowled under his helmet and lifted his head as a distant rumble of thunder drifted above the steady thrum of traffic crosshatching the sky. Storms had blanketed Coruscant's atmosphere for nearly 24 hours, and the constant rhythm of rainfall, accompanied by flashes of lightning crackling the air like shards of black glass reminded Cody vividly of his campaign on Jabiim. The soaked, water-based planet had frustrated the Republic's efforts to overcome their opponents to no end with its nonstop torrents of rain. There had been many losses, as well – over nine thousand troopers, and ten of the Jedi's most promising Padawans.  
Yet Anakin Skywalker had survived.

Irritated, Cody thrust that man's name from his mind, even though his orphaned lightsaber still hung from Cody's ammo belt. It seemed that he could not even lose himself in his memories without some mention of that young Jedi crossing his thoughts. So he began to mentally recite the facts that he had uncovered during the investigation into Senator Amidala's disappearance, as he had been doing for the past 43 minutes.  
One: Senator Amidala's skiff was no longer on its designated landing pad.  
Two: A small ship broke through the planet's picket line and made the jump to lightspeed.  
Three: Skywalker's lightsaber had been recovered at the Senator's apartment.  
Four: Amidala's blood was on the blanket found inside the apartment.  
Five: There was no physical evidence of Master Kenobi's presence.  
In Cody's opinion, none of those statements fit together very well at all.  
Dozens of hypotheses could be drawn from that collection of facts, and nearly every one that Cody pondered was more unlikely than the next. There were simply too many questions – and the ones buzzing in his skull began with "why."  
He knew that it wasn't his job to lay out all the pieces and attempt to put the puzzle together, but even though he was a clone, Cody was human enough to feel curiosity.

The gunship's engines changed in pitch, and Cody leaned out of the doorway as the dome of the Senate Complex loomed on the horizon. His pilot swung around to the southeast and touched down just outside the gargantuan columns of the Main Hall. Cody's white-booted feet hit the plush floor with a barely audible thump, and when he looked up, he was greeted by a pair of Imperial Guards. The red-robed sentinels were as silent as statues, holding their staff weapons against their left shoulders, flanking the long hallway to the Senatorial Offices.  
Cody swallowed back his dread and his resentment over feeling such an absurd emotion, and marched between the guards, pulling off his helmet as his long strides carried him toward the Emperor. The whisper of fabric swirling across the floor echoed behind him, and Cody clenched his hand into a fist at his side. Did they think he would try and flee? He was an ARC trooper, and his duty was to obey Lord Sidious. He knew that as surely as he knew how to dismantle a DC-15 rifle or pilot a V-19 Torrent.  
He fought down the urge to draw his blaster rifle and shoot both guards right between the eyes, and kept his eyes fixed on the golden light emanating from the far end of the hall.  
At the entrance to Palpatine's private office stood a tall, blue-skinned Chagrian, with long, curved horns that gleamed bone-white. Mas Amedda glided forward in a midnight-colored robe and inclined his head briefly. "Commander Cody," the Vice Chair spoke with a deep, resonating voice, and then his gaze flicked sideways to the guards standing behind Cody. "You're dismissed. Return to your posts." Amedda gestured elegantly to the door, and Cody took a moment to gain his mental bearings before squaring his shoulders and walking into the room. He followed the long hall, decorated with crimson and gold, and passed a large gilded statue at the threshold to the Emperor's office.

The air in the circular room felt heavy, scented with a vague residue of ozone, and was charged with an aura of power. Cody kept his dark eyes fixed on the hooded figure seated behind an ornate desk, and halted, tapping his heels together as he saluted.  
The chair slowly revolved, and a pair of gleaming yellow eyes pierced Cody's stare. "Ah, Commander." Palpatine's tone was officious as he steeped his long fingers together, his hands gnarled and laced with knotted blue veins, "Right on time – as always. What have you to report?"  
"My Lord, upon my squadron's arrival to Senator Amidala's apartment, we found the bodies of Troop 43C. Our onsite medic theorized that the troopers were killed by psychological trauma. Autopsies are being conducted at 0200. We also found evidence that Senator Amidala's apartment is the source of the destruction that affected the city and its populace. And we also found this."  
Cody unclipped the lightsaber from his belt and slowly held it out.  
Silently, the Emperor lifted the silvery hilt from Cody's gloved hand and held it almost reverently, studying the weapon as if he held knowledge of lightsabers. "Anakin's blade," Palpatine murmured to himself, and then he placed the weapon on the desktop and said firmly, "Continue, Commander."  
"During the interior sweep of the residence, my squad obtained some blood samples from a blanket that was discarded on the floor. We have since determined through lab testing that one sample came from Senator Amidala. The other has yet to be identified – but our initial scans indicate that it is from a human male. I ordered the lab to take a midichlorian count as well."  
"Very good, Commander. I expect the blood to be Master Kenobi's, and a substantial midichlorian count will only solidify the actions I will take against that Jedi traitor." The Emperor leaned back, relaxing into the shadows of his chair, and asked mildly, "Have you determined their whereabouts?"  
Cody swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. "I received a transmission one hour ago from the Star Destroyer _Subjugator_ in orbit above the planet. Its Bridge Commander informed me that a small ship of unknown design breached the picket line and jumped into hyperspace before they could get a fix on its coordinates. We are working on probable destinations based on the ship's last known trajectory, but there are over a dozen possibilities."  
Silence reigned.

When at last the Emperor spoke, each word was measured and deliberate. "Do you have evidence that this ship belonged to Senator Amidala?"  
"The landing pad registered in her name has recently been vacated, My Lord. The only vehicle stationed on it was a small speeder for local travel."  
Palpatine tapped a finger idly against his chin. "And only a Jedi would have the skill necessary to break through an Imperial blockade." His gaze sharpened. "How long ago did this breach occur?"  
"Approximately fifteen hours ago, My Lord." Cody practically forced the words out of his mouth.  
The Emperor merely blinked his reptilian eyes, and then rotated his chair to face the curved viewport. A quiet sigh filled the oppressive stillness. "Then they could be anywhere." Cody's fingers tightened involuntarily around the helmet tucked under his arm. "You disappoint me, Commander Cody," Palpatine's voice hinted of sadness and regret, like a parent about to punish a disobedient child. "And I don't disappoint easily. I anticipated that a soldier of your caliber would have little difficulty in locating a missing female Senator and a Jedi who has already managed to elude you twice in an effort to repair your tarnished military career." He paused, the sting of his rebuke festering in Cody's ears, and the clone commander lowered his gaze shamefully. "I am afraid that I have no choice but to –"  
The Emperor broke off in mid-sentence, and Cody raised his head, staring at the back of Palpatine's chair.  
"My Lord?"

There was no reply. Cody carefully edged sideways, watching for a glimpse of the Emperor's reflection in the transparisteel viewport. He caught a quick flash of yellow orbs widened in surprise and a wrinkled mouth twisted in a smirk of glee, and abruptly the chair spun around. Cody straightened at once, noticing that Palpatine's face was expressionless as he addressed him, firing off a question that was so far from Cody's mind that it took him a few seconds to answer.  
"How many destinations have you calculated based on the ship's last coordinates?"  
Cody stuttered, "About twelve, My Lord."  
Palpatine reached for the keypad set into his desk and began typing characters in rapid succession. "Then you will dispatch twelve Star Destroyers to those destinations immediately, and give them these schematics for the ship they must locate." A small holo floated above the desk, displaying a sleek silver craft identified as a Naboo Star Skiff. "If more coordinates are projected, you will assign multiple locations to each Destroyer until Senator Amidala is found." The holo fizzled out as the Emperor handed Cody a tiny datachip, which he promptly deposited into his wrist communicator slot. "You will also find information that will be vital to your next mission, Commander."  
Cody blinked, his mind still trying to catch up in this sudden turn of events. "My Lord?"  
"Gather five of your best ARC troopers and journey to the planet of Naboo. You will maintain surveillance on the Naberrie family, as well as Theed Palace and several other locations of significance." The Emperor's voice contained a distinct note of triumph as he spoke, "If Senator Amidala feels that she is safe, it is likely that she will return home, especially given her…current circumstances."  
He must have seen Cody's obvious confusion written on his face, for he waved a hand dismissively and said, "The files stored on the datachip will explain, Commander. You are dismissed."  
"It will be done, My Lord." Cody saluted, and spun on heel towards the hallway.  
"And, Commander…?" Palpatine waited until Cody turned around, and his eyes burned into the clone. "Don't disappoint me again."  
"Yes, My Lord." Cody marched out of the office, his head spinning, oblivious to Mas Amedda as the Chagrian soundlessly moved past him and into Palpatine's presence.

The Vice Chair bowed with surprising grace given his size and asked, "What would you have me do, My Lord?"  
"Issue an official arrest warrant for Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi with an award of 250 million credits. Send it out to all planets and colonies within the Empire, and send notices to the Hapes Cluster and the Hutts as well. Also, contact the local crime bosses and put out a bounty on Kenobi for three times the official reward amount – dead or alive."  
Mas Amedda inclined his head in compliance. "And Senator Amidala?"  
The Emperor reclined into the cushions of his chair, resting his elbows comfortably on its arms. "No arrest warrant for her – at least not yet. If the trap on Naboo is to succeed, she needs to be lulled into a false sense of security. And any chance that the child could be harmed during the arrest is intolerable." He pinned the large alien in place with fiercely blazing golden eyes. "That child is the key to ultimate power."  
"Then the Senator has given birth?"  
Palpatine nodded once, and then gestured indifferently. "Leave me." Mas Amedda bowed again, and left the room as silently as a shadow to carry out his Master's instructions.  
Darth Sidious lowered the lights in the office and turned once again to gaze out of the viewport at the sprawling metropolis that was his to control. He had been fully prepared to torture Commander Cody for his failure, but as he had fueled the dark side with thoughts of retribution…the Force had exploded.

It was not like before, when Vader had died. This explosion was not so much a concentration of energy as it was an expulsion of energy. Like a newborn star when its core finally ignites to blaze for eons, this eruption of pure Force energy flung ripples into the universe that trembled the threads connecting all life. Sidious could hear echoes of millions of voices, and they were speaking – whispering in one tongue that made the stars themselves quiver – but the Sith Lord could not hear their words.  
And with the Jedi gone and his most powerful apprentice slain, there was only one explanation.  
Anakin Skywalker's heir had been born.  
That child was to be Sidious' apprentice. And it must be found quickly – if it lingered too long in the solace of its mother's arms, her presence would shape the child's pliable mind and contradict the Sith teachings to which its life would be devoted to uphold.  
Then again, perhaps simply killing Senator Amidala would be a waste of a valuable asset.  
If she could be swayed to cooperate with Sidious and his plans for the Senate, he would grant her brief visits with the child instead of separating them forever. Besides, a lesson in attachment would have a very positive impact on the child's education when it was time for its final test of loyalty.  
A test that its father would never have passed.

Vader's loyalty would have always been divided between his Master and his wife – and quite frankly, Sidious was relieved that he did not have to manipulate the delicate strings connecting those two lives anymore.  
He had placed them together, it was true…but that had only been a step to taking advantage of a situation that had the possibility to reap succulent benefits.  
And now that benefit was ripe for the plucking.  
Sidious inhaled deeply, satisfied that he had devised a plan to keep events within his influence.  
After Vader's death the Sith Lord had felt a brief moment of panic – an emotion he had not experienced in some time. But now…now the future was progressing to what he had foreseen. A galaxy ruled by the Sith. Ultimate power and authority. The final revenge against the Jedi.  
Sidious chuckled darkly. A revenge that was dealt by the hand of their vaunted "Chosen One."  
Had Anakin decided to remain in the light he would have grown into a considerable threat. Yet while his mind had been polluted with the fog of doubt that Sidious had so carefully pushed him into, the young man was hardly a problem. At the present, the Sith Lord had nothing to worry about. The mythical Chosen One that had been prophesized to bring balance to the Force was dead.  
And Kenobi, Yoda, and any other Jedi vermin that may infest the Empire would never train the Skywalker child to become a Jedi.  
Sidious would kill it first.  
"_All who obtain power are afraid to lose it."  
_His words to Anakin only a few days ago floated over the twinkling lights of Coruscant, and Sidious allowed a smile to curve his craggy lips.  
_I never lied to you, Anakin, _he thought maliciously, _the truth is far more damaging._

------------

Anakin Skywalker was living his dream.  
He had always believed that happiness – true contentment – was a fickle creature, tempting a person to pursue one meaningless cause after another in an endless search for peace. When Padmé agreed to marry him, Anakin had thought that he would be content for the rest of his life, clinging to the simple knowledge that she was his. She had helped fill the hole that his mother's death had left in his heart, and her unwavering affection had caused his heart to grow larger – cultivating his relationship with Obi-Wan and slowly weeding out the seeds of cynicism springing up within his soul. And just when he felt as if his revived heart could grow no more, it made room for two precious infants.  
Luke and Leia were managing to stay asleep for a couple of hours, and that was very good news for him and Padmé. Lack of sleep really didn't bother Anakin as much as he thought it would. Exhaustion had a way of sneaking up on him when his mind was so full of thoughts and feelings that he could hardly concentrate on anything else. He had drifted in and out all night, waking every hour or so to hand Padmé a baby squalling to be fed, or to just lie completely still and listen to their soft breathing.

Anakin shifted his weight slightly on an elbow, watching Padmé catch up on some desperately needed sleep. Blue eyes tenderly caressed her face as his fingers softly traced the tendrils of brown curls that had escaped the loose braid as she slept. The sensitive skin around her eyes was discolored and puffy from sleep depravation, but Anakin could have cared less as he stroked his thumb along her cheeks and forehead. She would always be the most beautiful woman in the galaxy – and he was sure that if angels truly did inhabit the moons of Iego, they would pale in comparison to Padmé.  
He felt the early flickers of consciousness returning to her through their newfound bond, and his fingers continued to play gently along her silken skin, a smile lighting up his expression as she squinted up at him groggily. "Hi," he murmured in a warm tone just above a whisper.  
"Hi." Padmé's voice was hoarse from disuse, and she swallowed, licking dry lips as she struggled to make her sleep-fogged brain function. Suddenly her young husband was eagerly leaning down for a kiss, and Padmé quickly cupped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, Ani," she groaned, the words muffled, "I have horrible morning breath."  
Anakin merely shook his head and tenderly pried her hand from her mouth, his eyes smoldering as he whispered against her lips, "I don't care." His kiss made her feel so cherished, and his stubble tickled her cheek while he breathed into her ear, "You always taste sweet."  
Padmé felt her face warm, and seeing the pleased smirk curving Anakin's mouth convinced her that he thoroughly enjoyed making her blush. She supposed that she should be used to those charming, candid remarks by now – but Anakin seemed to make it a personal goal to constantly surprise her.

Striving to bring the conversation back to neutral ground, Padmé commented mildly, "You're in an awfully good mood for a man living on two hours of sleep."  
He shrugged, looking like a carefree child as he fell back onto the bed, tucking his cybernetic arm behind his head. "I can sleep when they're older," he said flippantly, staring at the ceiling. "Right now, I don't want to miss one minute with them." He rolled onto his side, blue eyes twinkling with mischief as he inched closer to Padmé. "Or with you, for that matter."  
"Oh?" Padmé kept her expression politely blank as she carefully moved sideways, her abdomen still sore from the delivery, and raised an eyebrow. "And what do you think we could be doing besides sleeping?"  
Anakin grinned, and rubbed their noses together, smoothing the stray curls from her face. "I have a pretty good idea…"  
They lost themselves in each other, passionate echoes of their feelings flowing between them until it seemed as if they shared the same emotions, the same heart. Anakin felt a warm, soft curling sensation in his belly – which he could only define as complete contentment as Padmé filled his awareness.  
There was no darkness lurking in the deep places of his spirit anymore. All of the cracks caused by anger and loneliness, despair and loss, had been filled in by his wife's essence. It was as if when they were separate, each of them was incomplete – only half a person. And now, by the will of the Force, they had been made whole. Together, they made one soul that was pure and unbroken, and one heart that seemed indestructible.

A high-pitched screech grated against Anakin's eardrums, and he growled indignantly as Padmé pulled away, her bright laughter triggering a reluctant grin from his lips. He stared at her with a lowered brow, his mouth pursed in an adorable pout, and Padmé remarked pointedly, "You're the one that said you didn't want to miss a minute." She batted her eyelashes at him, and squealed in surprise when his flesh hand unexpectedly snaked out and squeezed the back of her thigh. "Don't _do_ that!" She yelped, smacking his hand away from the sensitive spot.  
With a positively wicked smirk, Anakin slowly clambered from the bed, purposefully climbing over Padmé instead of moving to the opposite side of the mattress. His smirk widened as he watched her body tense, her dark eyes staring at him warily. "Don't you trust me, Padmé?" He asked, cobalt orbs twinkling with amusement, ignoring the impatient howls emanating from the crib behind him.  
Padmé glowered, "Not when you tickle me." Laughter bubbled out of him, and he gave her a swift kiss before rising to his feet and stepping over to the crib. Padmé studied her husband's back thoughtfully as he bent and picked up an inconsolable Leia, cuddling her against his chest with infinite care.  
He seemed…different to her.  
It wasn't a _bad_ different – on the contrary, Padmé vastly preferred this happy, light-hearted Anakin to the moody, compulsive one that had hovered around her the past few days. In all honesty, she could not remember a time when she had seen him behave this way – like he was freed from the crippling weight of destiny and war, and was able to just be Anakin – not the Jedi Knight or the Chosen One or the Hero With No Fear…just Anakin.

Padmé left her musings by the wayside as her husband settled on the bed beside her, bouncing their red-faced daughter in his arms as she screamed at the top of her lungs. She gradually propped herself up against the pillows and opened her arms, and in a few minutes Leia was tucked against her breast, eating with all the ferocity of a starving Wookiee.  
"You have quite an appetite, Milady," Padmé teased her baby daughter, touching a fingertip to the end of Leia's nose. Leia had more immediate things on her mind, but she watched her mother with wide brown eyes, her tiny eyebrows waggling up and down as if she was deep in thought.  
Anakin stretched out on the other side of the bed, and laid his tousled blonde head on Padmé's shoulder. Padmé rested her head against his, smiling gently as Leia's gaze traveled from one parent to the other with avid curiosity. "Does it hurt?" Anakin asked quietly, his voice hushed and rumbling in her ear.  
"It's more uncomfortable than painful. I'll get used to it in a few days."  
"Can you feed them both at once?"  
Anakin heard the smile in her voice as she replied, "Even I'm not that talented." She shifted slightly, careful not to pull out of Leia's reach and continued, "We'll have to keep them on a schedule, and they'll learn to take turns very early in life."  
"But what about you?" Anakin said, brushing his knuckle across Leia's small arm, "When do you get a break from all these around-the-clock feedings?"  
Padmé's shoulder lifted slightly under his head. "I think I remember Sola saying once that Pooja stopped nursing at around six months, so I guess that's normal for –"  
"Six _months_?"  
"We have options, so I don't have to feed them all the time. It's not as bad as you think, Ani."  
"But–"  
"Anakin." Padmé deliberately dropped her shoulder so he would raise his head and look at her. She gazed deeply into his bright blue eyes and said with quiet, firm sincerity, "This is very important to me. My mother told me that there is a special bond between a mother and her newborn baby, and that when I have children, I should do everything within my power to strengthen that bond – no matter what sacrifices have to be made."  
He was silent for a moment, searching her eyes – then he bit his lower lip and nodded. "If it's that important to you…" He added plaintively, "I just wish I could help you more."

He looked so forlorn; eyes downcast as he fidgeted beside her, idly plucking a stray thread on the blanket draped over her legs. Padmé felt her heart flip-flop with a surge of affection and empathy. Even when he wasn't gallivanting across the galaxy trying to save everyone, Anakin always wanted to feel useful – like he was needed. And while she could simply tell him that just being here with her and the twins fulfilled a great need in all of them…it wouldn't be enough to satisfy him. He wanted to _matter_ – to leave a mark upon the surface of time that beings from all walks of life would remember.  
Personally, Padmé thought that goal had already been achieved.  
Studying the burnished gold locks atop her husband's lowered head, Padmé came to the realization that this time – it wasn't about him or fulfilling his need to be useful. He wanted to give of himself for _her.  
_Her brown gaze widened as she stared at Anakin with new eyes. Even though she had no idea how she had reached this conclusion, she knew deep in her heart that it was true.  
He _was_ different.  
Padmé gently tucked her newborn daughter into the crook of her arm, cradling her tiny form one-handed, and reached out towards Anakin. He sensed a muted flash of insight tingle across his link to Padmé, and quickly glanced down when her soft fingers traced the skin over his knuckles. "Ani."  
Whenever she said his name like that – tender and sweet and bathed in her love for him – it was like a soothing balm soaking into his unruly emotions, and he immediately relaxed. He slowly rotated his wrist so her fingertips caressed the center of his palm, and his fingers curled reflexively around hers as she continued her gentle ministrations. "You're helping me just by being here."  
Anakin kept his gaze fixed on their dancing fingers, feeling so vulnerable that he was afraid of losing his equilibrium within her endless dark eyes. In truth, her words were exactly what he wanted to hear – he just had such a hard time accepting them. He was more introspective than others gave him credit for, and he knew that his experiences as a slave and an outcast child Padawan had left him incredibly insecure.  
Especially when it came to his wife.

His campaigns during the war had been measured by moments of intense combat and times of absolute silence. It was the silence that Anakin had dreaded most. While Obi-Wan had slept or meditated, Anakin's vivid imagination conjured up images of Padmé that seemed so real that his entire body tensed and blood thundered in his ears. And the fear he kept bottled up inside to shield his mind in the midst of the battlefield would trickle into his imaginings.  
What if she had decided their marriage was a mistake? What if she had fallen in love with someone else in his absence? What if she thought he was dead?  
The relentless questions had coated his mind like a thick syrup – until he could think of nothing else.  
He felt as if he was going mad. If he could only touch her – taste her honeyed kisses and immerse himself in her velvety brown eyes and see the love he knew she felt for him gleaming like smoldering coals in their depths.  
He recalled one sweltering evening on Malastare when the heat, coupled with his wild daydreams had driven him into a near-feral state. He stole away in the dead of night and piloted his fighter with reckless abandon to Naboo, which was less than two parsecs away. He remembered staring out at the shimmering blue-green jewel as the planet steadily consumed his fighter's viewport, silently ordering his wife to be there.  
He set his star fighter down on a small stretch of sand near the lake – just large enough for the triangular vessel – and sped soundlessly towards the darkened villa that was Padmé's beloved retreat. Aided by the Force, he leapt onto the stone veranda, vaulting over the balustrade and parted the sheer curtains adorning the vine-covered entryway. A rumpled, empty bed was outlined by moonlight, and his nerves suddenly blazed with warning. He rolled sideways to avoid a trio of laser blasts, his lightsaber springing to life in his hand…and the blue-white glare washed over his wife's astonished face. "Ani?"  
In one fluid motion Anakin deactivated his lightsaber and pulled the blaster from Padmé's grasp, tossing it aside with such force that its casing splintered against the far wall. He kissed her fiercely, relishing the feel of the silken skin on her upper arms as he gripped her tightly, and drew back to gaze into her shocked expression, feeling a kind of predatory satisfaction as she panted for breath.  
He captured her cheekbones between his sweating palms and growled in a low voice, "I know you love me, Padmé. I don't ever want you to forget that." Then he swept her in his arms and carried her to the bed.

Anakin let the shadows of that strange night fade from his mind's eye and focused his thoughts back on the present. But that was what it all boiled down to – what he craved most from his relationship with Padmé. He wanted to know that she needed him. It had never been about feeling useful or making a name for himself among the figureheads of the Jedi Order or history itself. He wanted to know that she needed him in her life – that she felt about him the same way he felt about her.  
She was his everything.  
And while she would almost certainly deny it, Anakin knew that Padmé was strong enough to go on without him. She was a towering pinnacle of strength and resolve – and as much as it hurt him to acknowledge it, she would be able to survive if he perished.  
But him…he would burn to ashes without her.  
That obsessive, dominating man that had awoken inside him that night had been a precursor to Vader, and Anakin felt as if he no longer recognized that man anymore. But he would be a fool to try and pretend that those veils of darkness did not still darken the edges of his consciousness, seeking to taint the purity of Padmé's soul as it slowly mingled with his.  
As if she sensed his turmoil – and she probably did – Padmé threaded her slim fingers through his larger ones and squeezed tenderly, and then she lifted their knitted fingers and brushed her lips over the back of his hand. He swallowed hard, and timidly peered through strands of tousled gold locks at her face. Padmé waited until Anakin's ice-blue orbs flickered up to meet her steadfast gaze, and then she held him captive as she spoke softly. "Ani…you know that I love you. And you know that I need you – I'll always need you – long after the twins have grown and started families of their own." She leaned closer and rested her forehead against his, and his shoulders rose in a shuddering breath. "You're half of what I am," Padmé continued in a quiet, reassuring voice. "If I am your soul…then you are my heart, beating life into my veins and filling my world with adventure and love." She gave him a gentle kiss, and watched his mouth tilt in its customary lopsided grin, although his blue eyes shone with gratitude and passion. Then she remarked playfully, "Besides, I'll need you to change plenty of diapers."

Anakin groaned loudly in mock-agony as she glanced down at the tiny baby nestled against her. "I think she's done. Could you take her, please?" Padmé slowly guided Leia's small body into her husband's arms and rearranged her white hospital gown for the sake of modesty, her head falling back against the pillows wearily. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep for at least a day, but her daughter's uncomfortable whimpering caused her to look over at Anakin.  
He was staring down at the little squirming bundle whose entire head fit in his palm with abject terror. Raising wide, frightened eyes, Anakin asked pitifully, "What am I doing wrong?"  
His wife's expression softened with compassion. "She needs to be burped – her tummy hurts."  
If anything his eyes grew wider and more fearful. "I don't know how," Anakin blurted quickly.  
"I'll show you." Padmé gestured for him to move closer, and she helped him reposition Leia against his chest so that her chin rested on his broad shoulder. "Make sure you support her head," she cautioned gently, arranging Anakin's flesh fingers around the nape of Leia's neck. "Now rub her back a little, and bounce up and down on the balls of your feet."  
Anakin complied to her instructions at once, listening anxiously to his baby daughter's moans as he rubbed her back soothingly, using the lightest touch possible with metallic digits. Then Leia emitted a raucous belch. He glanced at the tiny infant in shock, and felt Padmé's amusement sparkle through their bond just before peals of her cheerful giggles filled up the room. He laughed as well, marveling again at how events had turned in his favor and granted him the simple pleasure of learning how to care for newborn babies.

Still chuckling quietly, Anakin craned his neck and gazed into the crib to check on Luke. Their little boy was sound asleep, one tiny hand poking out of his blankets, and Anakin's eyebrows rose in amazement.  
He had been certain that Leia's loud bawling would wake her twin – as well as the entire MedCenter.  
Yet Luke slumbered peacefully – and his father, remembering Padmé's suggestion about a feeding schedule, struggled to recall when Luke had last eaten. "Padmé," he asked while shifting Leia in his arms, smiling lovingly as her tiny eyelids drifted closed, "Do you remember the last time you fed Luke?" He placed Leia back in the crib, straightening her blankets, and gently tucked Luke's hand into the warmth of his covers. Anakin gazed down at them for a moment, his heart swelling with love and fatherly pride as their little stars lay side by side in their crib, so close together that their foreheads nearly touched. He pulled his attention away from the twins with effort, and glanced over his shoulder at his wife, who had not yet answered his question. "Padmé?"  
She was fast asleep.

Anakin grinned and shook his head good-naturedly, tiptoeing to her bedside. Padmé's lips were parted slightly, air whistling in and out as she breathed deeply, oblivious to the rest of the world.  
Anakin fondly brushed a loose curl from her temple, and whispered in the gentle, warm tone he only used with her, "Sweet dreams, my angel. I love you." He leaned down and pressed a kiss on her brow, and then he moved the twins' crib nearer to her slumbering form so she could have easier access to them if they awoke before he came back. With a deep-seated sense of resolve driving him into motion, Anakin slipped on a pair of thin hospital shoes and paused for an instant at the doorway. He listened to their soft breathing, affixing the images of their sleeping faces firmly into his mind's eye, and then swiftly left the room.

He had committed the layout of the MedCenter to memory, and so Anakin walked with purpose towards Administrator Tuun's office. The Polis Massan looked up from his desk as the young man entered, and said with surprise, "Anakin! I am pleased to see you. How are the Senator and your twins?"  
Anakin pondered briefly the reason why Tuun had suddenly started addressing him by his first name, but decided not to dwell on it as he settled into a chair across from the Administrator. After all he had done for Padmé, Anakin was determined to cast aside his lingering discomfort in regards to the Polis Massan's physical appearance. And besides, he genuinely liked Maneeli Tuun. He smiled and replied happily, "They're all doing very well. They're sleeping right now."  
"I trust that you have gotten some rest, as well?" Ever the physician, Tuun's liquid-black eyes studied Anakin's face – though bright and full of joy, there were telltale signs of fatigue in the shadowed hollows surrounding the young Jedi's piercing blue eyes.  
"As much as I can with two newborn babies," Anakin said flippantly, a lopsided smirk curving his mouth. "Actually, I came to see you because they're sleeping." Anakin's grin faded and a wash of determination firmed his expression. "I want to have the surgery to replace my arm."  
Tuun nodded in satisfaction and came to his feet. "All has been prepared. We were ready shortly before your twins were born, so I have kept the surgical team on standby." He waited until Anakin stood and then put an arm around his shoulders, leading him towards the door. "You understand that the operation will be lengthy and painful?"  
"I've endured worse," Anakin remarked in a note of his old bravado, but his stomach soured as flashes of his initial surgery filled his thoughts.  
"It will be blessing for you and your family, my friend." Tuun guided Anakin into a large operating room filled with intense white light and several med droids, as well as three or four Polis Massans. He sat down on a high-backed, padded chair in the center of the room, and a med droid positioned his cybernetic arm on a white platform beside him. A Polis Massan, shorter and more lithe than the Administrator – perhaps a female – brought over a hovering silver tray covered with an assortment of medical and mechanical tools, along with…

Anakin stared in awe at the new artificial arm. It looked so _real_ – like it had been cloned from his genetic material. The only detail that gave it away was the tangle of multicolored wires dangling from the far end.  
"Are you ready, Anakin?" Tuun asked. A med droid floated over, holding a compact drill with a long, narrow bit. It clicked on, and the noise set Anakin's teeth on edge.  
He closed his eyes, summoning an image of Padmé's perfect face lighting up with surprise and delight behind the darkness of his eyelids, and the twins' smiles as he tickled their small bodies. As those beautiful visions filled his head, Anakin blocked out the high-pitched whine of the drill and nodded once.  
"I'm ready."

_------------_

_Mist.  
__It blanketed the rich, dark soil and flowed like water over gnarled tree roots fleeced with thick green moss.  
The trees were colossal monoliths rising from the vapor, their branches stretching out like black fingers against a lead-colored sky. Vines filled the spaces between these organic giants, creating designs as intricate as a spider's web as they draped from the all-encompassing branches suspended above.  
__The soles of his boots sank into the moist dirt, tendrils of white mist swirling around his legs as he followed the short, hunched figure ahead of him. The mist concealed the figure's appearance, but he glimpsed the shadow of a pointed ear and heard soft, coughing laughter. The figure led him through unseen paths, winding around broad trunks covered by spongy yellow lichen and flat-topped fungi – until the trees parted before a small clearing. In the midst of the clearing was an ancient tree, its knotted roots twisted around hunks of granite, through which there was a shadowed opening webbed with moss and vines.  
__A cave._

_The mist gathered around the ebony tree as if drawn to it, and cold seeped into the air, stilling the faint breeze that had whistled through the tangled branches. The cave loomed before him, growing larger even though he made no move towards it, and a hard ball of ice filled the pit of his stomach.  
_"_Afraid, are you?"  
__Yoda.  
__The landscape dissolved, melting into the spherical Jedi Council Chamber, bathed in golden-orange light, its occupants gray silhouettes that shimmered in and out of focus. A small boy stood rigidly straight in the center of the room, his fists clenched tight at his sides.  
_"_I'm not afraid."  
__Nine year-old Anakin Skywalker's blue eyes blazed with fierce determination as he faced the Council, fighting to prove himself worthy of becoming a Jedi._

_A watercolor wash of gray transformed the scene once more, and the mouth of the cave appeared blacker, more sinister, as the colorless mist coiled around the tree's sharply jutting branches. The ice began to leach into his bloodstream, his heart pounding dully against his ribcage.  
_"_I'm not afraid."  
__Anakin – now the voice of a battle-hardened man, each syllable ringing with unyielding conviction.  
__"See through you, I can."  
__The harsh, ululating cry of a winged creature pierced the tense silence as it soared overhead, and he saw a pair of burning sapphire orbs narrow dangerously.  
_"_Much fear you still have, young Skywalker. Clouds your path, it does."  
__Anakin's tone was saturated in pure frustration. "What would you have me do? I can't push it down like I used to anymore. Why are we wasting our time going over a lesson I've already learned?"  
__The thump of a walking stick striking the ground preceded Yoda's stern rebuke. "No patience have you!  
This lesson, learned you have? Feh! To push down your fear, pretend it does not exist – no wisdom there is in this. Unlearn you must, everything you know."_

_A quiet sigh floated over the chill mists, and he watched a tall, broad-shouldered man drop to one knee before the eldest Jedi Master. "Broken, you have become, Anakin. Mourn this, you should not – for only by being broken…become whole, you can." A pale green, three-fingered hand came to rest on the young man's bowed head. "Then, find your greatest strength, you will." There was the briefest pause – a small inhalation of breath.  
"Chosen One."  
__Anakin's head snapped up, startled shock covering his face, and waves of the emotion rippled outwards, distorting the vision as a thrown rock alters the glass-smooth surface of a pond. The mist wrapped around him like a cocoon, and filled his view with white…all was white…_

Obi-Wan slowly allowed his eyelids to drift open, using every second before he regained full consciousness to preserve fragments of his dream in his memory. Yet he knew that it was more than a mere dream – it had been too vivid, too detailed to have been spun from his own imagination. Scattered pieces of what he had seen floated along the surface of his thoughts like leaves across the water. He reached out to grasp some as they faded away into nothingness, but he could not catch them in time. So he stared blankly at his appointed room's nondescript white ceiling, mulling over what he could recall.  
Yoda…and Anakin, in the roles of teacher and student.  
That in and of itself was an event that had not taken place in over ten years, since Anakin had left the Temple to roam the galaxy as Obi-Wan's Padawan.  
It was the last thing Obi-Wan would have expected from the ancient Jedi Master when face-to-face with a traitor. Then again, even he had no idea what to do or how to behave in the aftermath of Anakin's abrupt change of heart.  
The location of the dream was disturbing as well, to say the least. A wild, swamp-like planet teeming with life was hardly threatening to any Jedi – but Obi-Wan was certain of what he had felt. It had saturated the atmosphere, wafted among the mist, and originated from the black cave in the center of the marsh.  
The dark side.  
If indeed his dream was a vision of a possible future…why in the world would Yoda and Anakin journey to a planet that was bathed in the black taint of the dark side? Or perhaps it was simply a dream manifested by Obi-Wan's longing to speak to the old Master and his desire to reach some sort of common ground in his relationship with Anakin. He had yet to test his earlier dream – the one that had left him with a single distinct impression. A child with Anakin's eyes.  
Obi-Wan did not know what he would do if that seemingly insignificant prophecy proved true, for it would open the door to infinite possibilities – none of which that he cared to explore.  
The present had enough problems.

Anakin's wounded, tear-stained face swam into view, superimposed over the drab ceiling. The image was accompanied by Padmé's shocked, pale features and Obi-Wan looked aside, regret aching inside his heart. Although Anakin had increased the bruising on his ribs during their brawl in the conference room, the Jedi Master understood that he had inflicted injuries far deeper on both his old friend and his wife. He had no right to judge them simply on the basis of what he had been taught – even if Anakin had sworn to uphold the exact same teachings that he had knowingly broken. Obi-Wan had seen the results of their relationship with his own eyes. A newborn pair of Force Sensitive twins in a universe devoid of hope, and a bond that had joined their souls as one. And the ache in his heart transformed into a hot stab of guilt.  
He knew why he had said those awful things, and he was ashamed of his own pettiness.  
There was an ancient Jedi proverb stating that revenge was like finely aged wine – once a sip has been taken, the taste will entice for more…until the mind is consumed.  
Seeing Anakin's jubilation over his brief glimpse of his unborn children, and the tenderness he displayed so openly with his wife had punctured a hole in the barricade Obi-Wan had constructed around his negative feelings. Trickles of anger enlivened images of lifeless bodies strewn throughout columned halls. Drops of grief birthed memories of the Temple's security hologram recording – and a face he knew better than his own fluctuated between raw fury and youthful joy, one expression masking the other every time he blinked. He had tried to cast it aside, focusing his attention on explaining how he had communicated with one of the twins through the Force. He thought it had worked. When he had sensed the unconditional love emanating from Padmé for a man that had proven himself capable of treachery, murder, and other unspeakable crimes…the barricade shattered.  
It was not fair.

Anakin was a traitor, a killer, a shadow that existed outside the influence of the Force – and he was being given all that he wanted. An extraordinary woman who loved him, two cherished offspring, and the opportunity to live his life as a free man – beyond the control of the Jedi Council, Palpatine, or any other master he may have been dedicated to serve.  
Where was the justice in that?  
The harsh words escaped his mouth in a wave of helpless rage – towards Anakin, but mostly towards himself. He had failed as a teacher to guide the Chosen One in the path of the Jedi. He had failed as a friend to confront Anakin when he had seen hints of the young man's inner conflict. He had failed Qui-Gon… whom he had loved as a father. He wanted something, _anything_ to blame other than himself.  
So he had taken aim at the only thing that would hurt Anakin the most.

Obi-Wan gingerly rolled onto his side and glanced at the chronometer imbedded on the surface of the small table by his bedside. He had slept undisturbed through a standard eight-hour night cycle, yet he still felt weary. Realizing that he would gain no more rest until he tried to make amends with Padmé and Anakin, Obi-Wan rose slowly from the bed, stretching his overexerted muscles as much as he dared. He briefly considered sitting on the floor to attempt a meditation trance, but he did not think his injured leg would handle the strain. And his mind was so cluttered with unresolved issues that the Jedi Master could concentrate on little else.  
He trudged into the small, serviceable refresher unit for a much-needed vaporbath. The hot water soothed Obi-Wan's aches and removed the lingering particles of dust that had stubbornly clung to his sand-colored hair and beard. The unit dried him with a blast of warm air, and he dressed in a fresh set of white medical clothes, folding the pant leg above his cast so that the fabric did not hinder his movements. As he left the refresher, the cool air filling the MedCenter sent a shiver across his cleansed skin, and he grabbed the loose-fitting robe that had been placed over the foot of his bed. Knotting the belt snugly around his waist, Obi-Wan pulled on his pair of hospital shoes and then reached under his pillow.

He rolled his lightsaber hilt in his palm, blue-grey eyes glistening with a far-off expression. He could not approach the young couple as General Kenobi, the Negotiator, Jedi Master and Council member – but as Obi-Wan, their friend. Carrying a lightsaber naturally made him stand taller and speak with more authority, and he knew that any conversation he initiated while in that frame of mind would not go well at all. The Jedi Master honestly wished that he would be able to speak to Padmé alone; if he knew Anakin – and he most certainly did – his old Padawan would never allow Obi-Wan to approach his wife without his supervision. And that would prevent him from asking the Senator some very personal questions. If Obi-Wan wanted to unravel the tangled threads of fate encircling the Skywalker family, he needed to understand just how deep and how strong their bond had grown. And then perhaps the sense of failure would be alleviated from his soul.  
He stuffed his lightsaber under the mattress, inhaled a deep, slow breath, and came to his feet. Shuffling to the door with all the careful movements of an old man, Obi-Wan made his way into the hallway, glancing around to get his bearings. As soon as he determined the appropriate direction, the Jedi Master headed towards the Maternity ward, glad that his injured leg provided some additional time to reach his intended destination. Perhaps by then he would have formed a suitable apology – and banished the remaining traces of bitterness staining his feelings towards Anakin.

------------

Dark brown eyes fluttered open slowly as Padmé savored the feeling of absolute bliss that had cocooned her since the twins' birth. Her body was still recuperating – adjusting to the demands of being Luke and Leia's source of nourishment, and her abdominal muscles were tremendously sore, yet neither of those complaints dimmed the peaceful smile curving her lips. She moved her shoulders a bit, relieving the slight pain in her neck from falling asleep while sitting upright, and her hand instinctively slid sideways to touch Anakin's warm skin. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion when her fingertips brushed only rumpled bedclothes, and she blinked to clear her blurry vision, gazing around the room for his familiar shape.  
It was then that she noticed the twins' crib had been pushed closer to her bedside, and Padmé relaxed against the pillows with a small grin. She had been waiting for the moment when Anakin would tire of the monotony of handing her a wailing infant and watching her care for them as only she could. Her impetuous vine tiger had stared keenly the first time she had nursed, as if he had never seen anything more amazing in his entire life. Constant questions bubbled out of him, and Padmé answered him as best she could, and she knew that he was absorbing every word. Anakin had always been a fast learner, especially when he devoted himself completely to a particular task, and she was certain that in a few days his parenting skills would probably surpass her own.  
But keeping Anakin in a single room for hours without anything to stimulate his adventuresome nature was like trying to contain the sun within a glass jar. Sooner or later that brilliance would explode – and when he was like that, nothing held his attention for very long. Except her.  
Whether it was speeder races, space battles, or Temple sparring…he always came back to her.

So it was without worry that Padmé cautiously wriggled her body to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over the side, untangling her limbs from the blankets. Wincing slightly as her stomach throbbed from the motion, she pushed herself to her feet, keeping a palm on the mattress as she tested her balance. Soft, wordless mumbles rose from the crib and Padmé, confident that her physical strength was returning, padded forward on bare feet. Leia was asleep, her tiny rosebud mouth pursed as if she was dreaming about her next meal – but Luke's eyes opened as his mother's face appeared above the crib, almost as if he had been waiting for her. Tiny legs kicked out through layers of blankets, and Luke's whole body practically squirmed with excitement, his little mumbles steadily increasing.  
Padmé smiled in pure delight and bent down, ignoring the stab of pain as she cuddled her firstborn son in her arms. Luke's small form fit perfectly in the curve of her shoulder, and he pressed his face into the softness above her collarbone…exactly like his father. Her eyes slid closed as the love she felt for the precious little star resting against her body overwhelmed her heart with its sweet intensity. She kissed the top of Luke's small head and caressed him with gentle fingers. And a song flowed from her heart as a childhood lullaby arose inside her memory. She started humming softly, rocking back and forth, and then she began to sing.  
_A star fell down from the heavens, and landed in my arms…  
_She thought she could hear her mother's rich alto harmonize with her own voice, and her eyes welled with hot tears, a lump clogging her throat. How badly she wanted to share her happiness with her parents, her sister… She felt fulfilled with Anakin and Luke and Leia in her life, and it was what Jobal Naberrie had always wished for her youngest daughter. Padmé swallowed hard and finished her song in a husky, tremulous tone, using it like a benediction. One day, she silently promised, one day her family would live without fear of separation or condemnation, and she would be able to communicate her soul's joy to the ones she loved.

The tiny noises Luke had been emitting into her shoulder quieted, and Padmé carefully relocated his delicate frame to settle in the crook of her arm, thinking that he had fallen asleep. Instead, the not-quite-one-day-old infant was looking up at her with vivid indigo orbs too underdeveloped to focus – yet Padmé felt as if that blueness was peering with astonishing clarity into the deepest part of her being. She chuckled under her breath at the sudden rush of nervousness that was surely caused by her overactive imagination, and brushed her fingertips over Luke's small hand. The miniature digits immediately wrapped around her index finger, but those blue eyes continued to study her with serious intensity.  
And then she remembered what Ani had said about touching them with the Force, and how they responded every time he was near.  
But Anakin was a Jedi, and highly sensitive to the Force – or at least he had been. She had no such connection, but…the twins had lived inside of her for nearly seven months. Maybe, just maybe, they had learned how to sense her mood as Ani did – simply by using their innate talent.  
Padmé glanced down at Luke, nestled contentedly in her embrace as he nibbled on her finger, still watching her attentively. Curiosity tugged on her mind, and Padmé turned slightly to gaze over at her youngest child, lying quietly in the crib.  
Wide brown eyes blinked up at her, reflecting the same uncanny awareness as the gaze of the infant cradled against her chest.  
"All right, you two," the new mother murmured good-naturedly, "That's enough staring." Padmé gently placed her son in the crib beside his twin sister and rearranged their blankets, pushing her melancholy thoughts about her family on Naboo into the far recesses of her mind. She smiled at each of them reassuringly – as she did with Anakin whenever he worried that something was troubling her. "I'm fine."  
Humming lightly, Padmé stroked their soft, round cheeks and the wisps of hair on their foreheads, and in a matter of moments her little stars were appeased.

A dim, even-toned beep filled the room, and Padmé looked over a shoulder at the closed door.  
She moved away from the twins and approached the entryway, wondering who was on the other side. Anakin would just come in – it was his right. Perhaps Administrator Tuun would have the discreet civility to ring before entering, but the med droids had no compunctions. One came inside every few hours to deliver a tray of food, check the twins' vitals and her own, and then leave. So she studied the door with indecision, debating whether or not to remain silent and see if her visitor would leave. But Padmé was a diplomat to the core, and she could not in good conscience ignore anyone who requested an audience.  
Unsure of how to operate the door controls, Padmé slipped a lightweight robe around her slender frame and called out, "Come in."  
Obi-Wan paused just inside the threshold, a faint suggestion of insecurity filling his slate-colored irises as he asked quietly, "May I come in?"  
Surprise caused Padmé's eyebrows to arch high on her forehead, and she gave him a short, graceful nod. As the Jedi Master walked in, the door sliding shut behind him, Padmé was acutely reminded of the last time Obi-Wan had arrived at her doorstep, asking – no, _pleading_ with her to divulge Anakin's whereabouts…so that his former mentor could kill him.  
The same apologetic stance was clearly visible to her in Obi-Wan's dropped shoulders, and the way he focused intently on her face told her that he was trying to discern her emotions through the Force.  
Padmé allowed the unreadable mask of a politician to disguise her features, though the sharp, jagged pain that this man whom she regarded as a dear friend had dealt her through his angry words resurfaced in her heart. She placed herself between Obi-Wan and her tiny treasures, struggling to cage the unexpected surge of ire rising like a red tide over her rationale.

Obi-Wan observed a strange contradiction of emotions within Anakin's wife with muted amazement. Padmé's delicate features seemed carved from ice, and her body language was tense and protective as she blocked his view of the twins' crib. Yet it was her eyes that struck him the most.  
Instead of the level, glacial stare the Jedi Master was accustomed to witnessing – Padmé's dark eyes blazed with a searing ferocity that was uncharacteristic of the normally collected Senator.  
Obi-Wan had heard that having a child turns a woman into a tigress – but he realized that it was far more than that to affect Padmé so strongly.  
And he plainly saw Anakin glaring out of the young woman's eyes.  
It was a credit to Padmé's inherent self-possession that she managed to inquire civilly, "What do you want?" She took a deep breath and added, "Master Kenobi."  
Obi-Wan tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe, as though the white garment were his Jedi uniform, and replied, "I wished to offer my congratulations to you and your husband." He inclined his head briefly, and then glanced around the room with mild interest. "Is Anakin here?"  
He was deliberately avoiding the issue that had compelled him to enter this increasingly awkward conversation, and both he and Padmé knew it.  
Padmé bit the inside of her cheek to stifle an abusive verbal retort. She refused to tolerate the cryptic, veiled answers that all Jedi seemed educated to give any longer. She was sick to death of politics – of the endless games of manipulation and deceit, using one issue to cloud another, and never truly saying what one meant.  
She would not do it anymore.

Her chin rose defiantly, and the regal posture of her slender frame transformed her drab hospital attire into royal robes of state. "I think you have said enough to him."  
Her words hung suspended in the silence that followed, and the temperature in the room fell, chilling the moisture in the air.  
Obi-Wan winced, looking away. "Padmé, I am deeply so–"  
Her glare seemed to catch fire. Jabbing a finger in his direction, Padmé cried out angrily, "Do _not_ apologize to me!" Obi-Wan's mouth snapped shut as the twins were startled awake by their mother's raised voice. Luke began fussing and Leia let out a piercing screech. Padmé spun around quickly, the Jedi Master instantly forgotten as she comforted her babies. "Shh, it's all right…" She laid a palm on each infant's stomach and rubbed soothingly, leaning in close and brushing her full lips on their cheeks. Their sweet, milky scent slowed her rapidly pounding heart and quenched the flames of her building temper.  
Padmé hovered over them as their cries faded into the occasional whimper, Leia's tiny hand touching her chin, and she closed her eyes. _What is the matter with me?_ She rarely allowed herself to lose control, especially after her marriage to Anakin. He needed her to react to situations in a manner that he seemed incapable of demonstrating – cool, levelheaded and practical – the perfect compliment to his impulsive, hot-tempered and stubborn behavior. The way she had responded to Obi-Wan just now was exactly what Anakin would have done, and she felt oddly consoled and frightened at the same time. It was as if their inexplicable experience in the birthing room and her growth as a mother was changing her – body, soul, even her personality, and Padmé wondered if the woman she was becoming was whom she was always meant to be, and the other – the other was just pretense.  
She straightened, gazing down at the little stars, who had quieted but were staring up at her with large, inquisitive eyes. She slowly turned, keeping one hand inside the crib, and met Obi-Wan's steady gaze. His blue-grey orbs wordlessly told her that he understood, and Padmé knew that before she accepted his apology, she had the Jedi Master's full attention. She intended to make good use of it.  
"Do not apologize to me," Padmé began again in a low, controlled voice. "Not until you hear what I have to say." Her thickly lashed brown eyes blinked at him from across the room, full of previously hidden pain, and Obi-Wan encouraged her to continue with a slight nod.

"I love him."  
It was the most profound truth of her entire existence – and it was the only way to begin, although Obi-Wan surely knew already. The simple knowledge that she was Anakin Skywalker's wife had sustained her throughout the war, helping her combat the intense loneliness that came with each twilight and bolstering her sanity whenever she perused the casualty reports in Senate meetings. But it had burned inside of her for so long – a secret so powerful it could destroy both their lives – that saying those three small words caused a chill to sweep across her skin, raising the fine hairs on her forearms. Then her eyes, focused on Obi-Wan's ponderous gaze, grew distant as she fell into musings of the past.  
"When he asked to marry me, I considered refusing – though it would shatter his heart and mine – because I knew how special he is…not only to me, but to the galaxy. I didn't want to be his reason to surrender his dreams, his potential for greatness. But if I said no…he would plunge headfirst into battle with no care for his own life, and history would still be deprived of his brilliance in a gradually darkening universe." Her faraway stare hardened briefly. "I was not trapped in this relationship. I chose it. I chose it because he chose me above all his oaths, his duty and sense of honor, even his life's ambition…to be his best friend, his counselor, his lover, his conscience – but most importantly to be his hope. He had lost so much in a matter of days – he was on the brink of mental and emotional breakdown. So I said yes."  
Padmé then became silent, her gaze lowering towards the tiny fluttering movements that Luke and Leia's miniscule fingers were creating against her hand. But Obi-Wan knew that she was not finished.  
He was not completely certain that he understood the reason driving Padmé to communicate these personal facets of her relationship with Anakin, but he did realize that it had nothing to do with him. She was not confessing a mistake, defending an action, or seeking validation.  
She only wanted someone to know the story.

While her attention was drawn by her children, Obi-Wan hobbled over to a nearby chair and settled into the floating piece of furniture, his injured leg throbbing painfully from prolonged use of supporting his weight. He timidly stretched out with the Force in the lingering silence and examined the twins with a brush of perception. Each newborn continued to blaze with untamed sensitivity, yet he observed with a small amount of surprise that both infants were centering their instinctual awareness on Padmé – more so than what he had seen after their birth. Whatever preexisting connection there had been between mother and children, it was steadily growing, beyond the natural bond of a parent and offspring. Through the Force, the twins seemed to be learning how to interpret their mother's mood – and they were not even a day old.  
Padmé released a quiet breath, and Obi-Wan abandoned his suppositions as she continued her emotive monologue. "We both knew how difficult our relationship would become, but the first six months were easier than I expected. We saw each other as often as we could, and I think both of us used our work to keep from dwelling on our next meeting. I threw myself into the Senate, and HoloNet reports told me that he was doing the same thing with every battle that summoned him. But he traveled farther and farther away along the Outer Rim, and what used to be a few weeks turned into a month, then two… I felt half-alive almost all the time, and putting on the brave mask to hide what I was feeling left me drained. I felt like the only person in the universe – and people constantly surrounded me. I wanted to share with someone what I was feeling…but no one could ever know – especially not my husband. I could tell that he felt it, too – like the spark of life was slowly being siphoned from my spirit until there was nothing left but an empty shell – and if I told him, he would not hesitate to desert his obligations and end my agony. So I became very good at pretending – though I would lie awake every night, terrified that I was ruining his life because his highest commitment was to me and not the Jedi Order."  
Obi-Wan bowed his head, a swell of guilt ripping through his body. He was beginning to understand the full impact his irate, thoughtless words had caused to this incredibly strong, courageous woman to whom the Chosen One had entrusted his heart.

"The last five months were the most unbearable of my life." Padmé's loose braid slipped over her shoulder, and the glossy chestnut tail contrasted sharply with her white robe. "He sent me holo messages whenever he found a spare minute or two, but they were few and far between, and seeing his face – so sad and so hardened by all he had endured – it hurt more than not seeing him at all. Rumors circulated daily that he had been seriously wounded or killed, and I prayed that he would send me some kind of sign that he was still alive. And then a med droid confirmed my suspicions. I was pregnant. I think that was the hardest thing of all – knowing that our lives were changing in the most significant manner, and he was completely unaware. He would not be there through the horrible bouts of morning sickness, or watching my body transform, or putting his hand on my stomach to feel the very first kick." A tear escaped from beneath her lowered eyelashes, but her voice was utterly calm as she spoke quietly, "Maybe our lives would have been less complicated if we were not together. But I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that my life would not be better. In spite of all that I have had to bear during this marriage – I would never give it up. Anakin has been the truest, most genuine and beautiful thing in my life, and the greatest gifts I have ever been given is him…and these two." Brown eyes rose to meet Obi-Wan's unwavering stare, and he saw the unconquerable spark of Padmé's resolve igniting flecks of shimmering gold in her dark irises. "If you think that I have made him vulnerable, then you are wrong, Obi-Wan. What you said in the conference room hurt…but it does not change how I feel about the choices I have made, and I know that Anakin would tell you the same thing. I cannot regret the decision that has given my life meaning."

Quiet descended upon the room's occupants, but the air was no longer stagnant with tension and animosity – although Padmé continued to hold Obi-Wan's gaze with all the insightful authority of a former Queen. He was the first to look away – eyes flicking downwards to his hands, which were clasped loosely in his lap. When he raised his eyes, the blue-grey orbs were devoid of the pity and sadness Padmé had seen on the eve of her darkest day…nor was there any sign of the vengeful sharpness that had brewed like a storm within the confines of the conference room.  
Instead she saw something that she had not seen in Obi-Wan's friendly gaze in a long time.  
There was contrition, and kindness, and a warmth that permeated his stare – and then Padmé realized that she was not seeing the presence of a recurring emotion…but the absence. The hollow, deadened glaze that had clouded the Jedi Master's eyes for months – perhaps the duration of the war – was gone.  
"Padmé," Obi-Wan said in a low voice, "I deeply regret what I said to you and Anakin in the conference room yesterday. My words were cruel…and thoughtless. I did not mean them – but that is no excuse, nor do I offer one. What I do offer is my sincerest apologies. I am sorry, Padmé, for the pain that I have caused you." He released a short breath, as if speaking those words had relieved an immense burden on his heart, and then resumed. "I do know that in my idiotic tirade," the ghost of a smile barely lifted the corner of his mouth, "I did speak one truth: you make him happy, Padmé. And for that, I am thankful. Anakin…" He broke off, swallowing back the burning sting of inexplicable tears in his throat. "Anakin is a good friend, and he means a great deal to me – maybe more than he should." Padmé's dark eyes flooded with compassion, but Obi-Wan waved a hand nonchalantly and continued in a more controlled voice, "I want you to know that whether or not I receive forgiveness from you or Anakin, I will do everything within my power to protect your family from the Emperor. We each have a destiny – and that is mine."

Padmé contemplated the apparent sincerity in his statement as she glanced down at her little stars, absorbing the innocence radiating from their tiny faces. She could not hold Obi-Wan's words against him – carrying a grudge would be a direct contradiction of her upbringing, and even though Ani would never admit it, the Skywalker family needed all the help it could get. Yet it was so much more than that.  
This was the man that had, for all intents and purposes, raised her husband. Anakin was a good man, but not all of his virtues were bred into him. They had to be learned, and encouraged – and she knew that Obi-Wan was the source of those teachings.  
Whatever had happened in the Temple must have broken his heart.  
She slowly freed her fingers from the twins' tangled blankets and approached the Jedi Master. He stood immediately – out of respect or in preparation for dismissal, she did not know – and Padmé gently reached out and took his hands in a gracious, companionable manner. "I forgive you, Obi-Wan," she said simply.  
The faint worrying lines on his brow visibly diminished before her eyes, and he offered her a small, grateful smile. "Anakin thinks of you as a father, and a brother – that makes you _my_ brother, as well. But I hope you understand that Anakin's forgiveness will not come from me. Both of you have things to work out together, and I cannot become involved." One cultured eyebrow rose teasingly. "Unless you plan on giving me your lightsaber again."  
They shared an easy laugh, and Padmé rose on tiptoe to kiss Obi-Wan's bearded cheek. She began stepping away, pulling lightly on his hand as she said earnestly, "Come meet our twins."  
Obi-Wan consented to her gentle nudging, the enthusiastic happiness and pride glittering in Padmé's brown eyes and within her essence awakening his curiosity in regards to Anakin's children. He peered over her shoulder as they approached, a nest of soft blankets visible above the edge of the crib –

His hand jerked suddenly, and grew stiff as the Jedi Master came to an abrupt halt. Padmé turned sideways, glancing at their clasped hands in puzzlement. "Obi-Wan?" Her gaze drifted up to his face – and she felt her stomach plummet as stark terror briefly coated his features before melting into a tense, worried expression. "What is it?" She asked apprehensively.  
Obi-Wan dimly heard Padmé's voice, but he was too disturbed by what he had sensed to immediately reply. The Force had been quiet for some time – Obi-Wan realized that it was due to his still-limited range and the fact that there were significantly less Force users in the galaxy – but he had been monitoring its ebbs and flows as best he could. And then, like the receding water on the shore that signaled the imminent tidal wave…the Force told him that an arrival was fast approaching. An arrival powerful enough to trigger ripples of warning in his consciousness.  
Slender fingers wrapped around his limp hand and squeezed tightly, begging for attention. Obi-Wan's eyes slowly focused on Padmé's concerned face as she repeated, "What is it?"  
His tone was low and full of foreboding, "We are no longer alone here." While Padmé was still processing these words, Obi-Wan pulled out of her grasp and clutched her upper arms, bending close as he murmured with rigid urgency, "Where is Anakin?"  
"I–I'm not sure," Padmé stammered, her eyes wide and frightened. "He left while we were sleeping. I don't know how long he's been gone."  
Obi-Wan's taut stare softened briefly. "Don't worry for him, Padmé – I will make sure he finds his way here as soon as possible. But for now, you must stay in this room until I come for you. Does the door have a locking mechanism?" She nodded quickly. "Set it once I leave, and do not open it for anyone except Anakin or myself." He released her arms and headed for the doorway, moving as rapidly as his injured leg would allow. As he reached the threshold, the door slid open.  
"Master Kenobi," the silvery med droid greeted, "I'm to escort you to the Port Control Tower at once. Please follow me." Obi-Wan shuffled into the hall, hearing the echo of quick footsteps behind him, and turned to look at Padmé. Just as the door sealed, he promised quietly, "It will be all right."

Her anxious face vanished behind the closed portal, and Obi-Wan chased his escort down a long hallway to a turbolift stationed at the far end. He entered the lift, noticing momentarily that it was enclosed within a transparisteel tube located outside of the main complex, allowing for a breathtaking view of the asteroid belt as they ascended to the Tower. However, the view was lost on Obi-Wan as his unease intensified with each passing minute. If the Empire had indeed discovered their whereabouts, then there was no time to lose.  
The ideal scenario would be for them to sneak out of the system through the belt…but where they would go afterwards was a complete mystery. Polis Massa was one of the few safe havens remaining for a Jedi fugitive, and Obi-Wan had no intention of leaving Anakin and his family alone. As far as he knew, he was their only ally in an increasingly hostile universe. Indeed, of the five members of their runaway group, Anakin would be the easiest to hide.  
Palpatine and the rest of the galaxy thought he was dead.  
The turbolift slowed to a stop, the momentum causing Obi-Wan's body to shift, and the doors slid aside to reveal an oblong room full of computer panels and holographic displays of the system. A large viewscreen on the right side was spread across the entire wall, and was currently showing the outer rim of the asteroid belt. A small, squat Polis Massan awaited him just inside, and gave Obi-Wan a respectful bow. "Master Kenobi, I am the Polis Massa Flight Controller. Please, enter."  
Obi-Wan exited the turbolift, stepping into the technologically strewn area, and his med droid guide departed back to the lower levels.

Soft green light emanating from the panels bathed the entire room in a monochromatic glow, and the Flight Controller motioned him over to a station right in front of the viewscreen. The Polis Massan sat down and began pressing various buttons as he spoke. "Our visitor has not yet reverted from hyperspace; we detected their ion emissions approximately 5 microcycles ago and the Administrator deemed that caution would be the best course of action. I have been monitoring the exit point for their arrival – but so far they have not appeared."  
Obi-Wan leaned over the Flight Controller's shoulder, searching the screens for any hint of what to expect. "Can you determine from the ion emissions what type of ship it may be?"  
"Not to a precise calculation, but it is clear that the ship is larger than a standard light freighter. It could be a small cargo vessel, a passenger carrier, or a military cruiser. I really cannot narrow it down."  
A flash of white suddenly caught Obi-Wan eye, and he looked swiftly up at the viewscreen. "Well," he said in an oddly calm voice, "we're about to find out. They're here."

------------

"Nerve endings have been successfully assimilated with synthetic interface."  
The phrase barely registered in Anakin's pain-fogged brain. He sensed movement around him, and the muscles in his right arm tensed involuntarily, bracing for yet another torturous test of his endurance.  
When it did not come, he struggled to open blurry, swollen eyes and a gentle hand touched his shoulder.  
"Would you like something to drink, Anakin?" He managed to nod his head, though the motion caused his skull to throb, and the rim of a glass pressed against his lower lip. He opened his mouth obediently, gulping down the ice-cold liquid that soothed his raw throat, and fell back into his seat with exhaustion. "The surgery is complete, Anakin," Administrator Tuun was speaking again, and he blinked up at the Polis Massan groggily. "We will now test your reflexes."  
He felt a quick, sharp jab against his right palm, and Anakin jumped at the sensation, shouting, "Ow!" His eyes snapped open as he finally realized that what he was feeling was originating from an arm that had not truly experienced any sensation in over four years. He stared down at the flesh-colored limb in absolute amazement, watching the metallic needle hovering above.  
The jab moved to his index finger, then his remaining fingers in succession, and a voice instructed, "Make a fist, please." Anakin complied, marveling at the enclosed fingers and the white light shining dully on the thumbnail. "Open." He did so, and followed a few more required movements until the voice announced, "Reflex test is complete." Anakin slowly lifted his arm from the sterile surface and looked at it from every angle possible, rotating his shoulder and bending his elbow as the gleam overhead caught flashes of blonde hairs on his skin. Timidly, he placed his left palm on the forearm and remarked in fascination, "It's…_warm_."

"Indeed. It is the most advanced technology available." Tuun explained with quiet seriousness, "The unit is outfitted with a dual power supply that draws energy directly from your body – just like your other limbs. It also has a heat coil which warms the surface, and I am sure you have already noticed that its sensors far surpass those of your cybernetic arm." Anakin nodded mutely, running his fingers through his tousled locks in his habitual manner, marveling at the feel of his own hair.  
A long finger touched the area just under his elbow, and Anakin glanced sideways. A thin band of gleaming silver encircled his arm, and the Administrator continued, "The seam between your new arm and the original is less noticeable – but not invisible. This will allow for routine maintenance and for any…personal modifications." There was a hint of amusement in Tuun's voice, and Anakin felt his mouth tilt in a lopsided smirk. "But now…may I suggest that you return to your room and get some rest."  
Administrator Tuun helped the young man to his feet, remaining motionless when Anakin gripped his arm tightly as the room spun crazily. It only lasted for a few seconds, and then Anakin straightened, releasing Tuun's arm and inhaling a deep, slow breath. His blue eyes flickered in the Administrator's direction, and Tuun asked gently, "Can you find your way back?"  
Anakin nodded, but did not break eye contact. He regarded the Polis Massan in silence for a handful of heartbeats, and then murmured in a low, fervent voice, "Thank you." Administrator Tuun inclined his head, watching the famous Jedi exit the operating room as he stared at his new arm. A chime echoed from the panel on the opposite wall, and Tuun strode over to the display.

Anakin tottered down the hallway, his awe over his gift fighting against nearly overwhelming exhaustion as he continued on with no real sense of where he was going. The surgery had been excruciating – more so than when he had first received a replacement arm – but he had to admit that it was worth it.  
He could hardly wait to see the expression on Padmé's face, or to feel the satin softness of her cheek under his fingertips, and see Luke's tiny hand curl around his finger, and stroke Leia's feathery tresses…  
He had done all these things before with his other hand – but one who had never lost a limb was incapable of understanding how it felt to constantly remind oneself with which hand to caress the woman you loved, or being afraid that your heavy, metallic fingers would hurt the fragile bodies of your newborn children.  
Now that heart-wrenching burden was a thing of the past, just like his nightmares.  
"Anakin!"  
He spun around to face the Administrator, who was calling out to him frantically as he jogged quickly towards him. "What is it?"  
"Our Flight Control Tower has detected the ion emissions of a ship entering the system."  
All of the oxygen seemed to abandon his lungs.

Anakin inquired hoarsely, "Are you expecting any cargo vessels?" It was a naïve hope – but he had to try.  
Tuun shook his head. "Our primary cargo vessel is not due for fifteen standard days."  
Black orbs met blue for an instant, and an unspoken strategy passed between them. The Administrator headed down the rightmost hallway as Anakin broke into a sprint, the powerful muscles in his legs that had been primed during the war pushing his body at an unbelievable speed towards the small room that housed his infinitely precious family. His heartbeat provided the rhythm for his stride, and his newly constructed right palm itched for the hilt of his lightsaber. He reached into his tunic for a small communicator to contact Artoo and have the astromech scour the skiff for his weapon – but realized a moment later that the device was in his Jedi uniform, and therefore impossible to use. And the Force had left him.  
He slowed just noticeably, his heart lurching into his throat.  
He was helpless. He could not protect his family, and Padmé trusted him to do that.  
He shook himself from the harsh tug of despair and increased his stride. If he had to throw himself unarmed in front of a clone trooper firing squad in order to save his loved ones…he would.  
The door to their room loomed in front of him, and he skidded to a halt, slamming his palm against the cool metal. But it would not open. He tried again, waiting for the portal to lift so that he could cradle his wife in his arms and shield their babies from whatever threat that dared approach – but nothing happened. Without a second thought, Anakin yanked on the door's control panel and pulled out a knot of multicolored wires, hacking into the computer system with preternatural skill. In less than five minutes the door slid aside, and he abandoned the ruined control panel and raced inside. "Padmé?"  
The bed was empty – the covers folded neatly aside, as they were whenever Padmé arose every morning – and a fleeting glance at the crib told him that the twins were missing, as well. He darted wildly around the room, dread saturating his mind as adrenaline pumped into his veins. "Padmé!" He called desperately.

"Ani."  
A door set into the wall near the far corner opened – Anakin had not even noticed it until now – and revealed a small storage closet. On the floor, nestled in a pile of blankets, his wife sat cross-legged, her back against the shelves, with two tiny infants resting on each leg.  
Anakin ran over in one massive leap. Falling to his knees, sweat pouring from his brow, he enfolded Padmé in his arms, breathing in the scent of her skin. She laid her head briefly against his golden hair, and he kept one arm locked around her shoulders as the other touched each twin's forehead. She could feel him trembling, and she carefully coiled an arm around his lean waist, tenderly pulling him closer. Hot breath warmed her earlobe as he whispered huskily, "I was so afraid. I thought I lost –" He could not bring himself to finish. Quivering lips kissed her cheek, trailed along her jaw, and paused above her collarbone. He did not move for some minutes – comforting himself with her familiar form and the soft whispers of love that passed soundlessly through their bond, calming his fiercely pounding heart. A tremor passed through his long frame, and Padmé felt the taut muscles on his back loosen as he drew away from her shoulder. Flashing blue eyes latched onto her face and refused to let go, and Padmé's free hand departed from the twins to brush tousled curls from Anakin's forehead. She leaned forward and pressed a feather-light kiss on his temple, and watched the turbulence swirling within his gaze begin to wane.

Keeping their arms wrapped around each other, Anakin shifted his body to sit beside her and Padmé made as much room as she could in such a cramped space, jostling the sleeping twins on her lap. She looked down swiftly – but other than Leia's soft moan and Luke's turning head the twins remained asleep.  
Once her husband had settled at her side, he asked in a low voice just above a whisper, "What are we doing in a closet?"  
She giggled in spite of herself. She suspected that he already knew the answer, but Anakin liked to use his wry sense of humor to lighten the mood of any precarious situation. So she countered mock-seriously, "I was showing the twins the view from in here – this is quality craftsmanship for a closet, after all." It pleased her when Anakin chuckled briefly under his breath, and his left palm reached out to cup Leia's tiny head, his thumb caressing her plump cheek.  
"Did the Administrator tell you about the ship entering the system?" He said solemnly.  
Padmé stilled for a moment, compressing her lips together tightly as she mentally assembled a reply that would not cause his short fuse to burn. "No, the Administrator did not tell me…Obi-Wan did."  
Anakin stiffened, and she continued hurriedly, "He came to apologize for what he said yesterday, and as we were talking he must have sensed something in the Force. He said, 'We are no longer alone here' – and then he told me to lock the door and stay here until he returned. He also told me that he would make sure you found your way back here. Have you seen him?"  
"No." The negative response came out as a deep growl. "Administrator Tuun informed me of what was happening and I came back here as soon as I could."  
He felt Padmé's curiosity stir in the back of his mind as she asked, "Where were you anyway?"  
"Around."  
Padmé was used to his noncommittal phrases, so she let it pass – although he saw her mouth curve into a fleeting, secretive smile, and a flicker of muted amusement traveled along their bond. She was reflecting on his routine stints of "flights of fancy", as she called them – and he felt no desire to correct her at this time…though he decided to give her a hint.

A playful smirk lit up his expression as Padmé turned her attention on their twins, and his right arm slid from her shoulders to reach down and take her hand, intertwining their fingers. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze – but did not notice anything different. Anakin stifled a gleeful snort of laughter.  
She glanced sidelong at him, and he relaxed his features, inwardly wondering what level of his emotions could she sense through their strengthening connection.  
Her dark eyes grew somber, and she said, "What are we going to do?"  
"We'll stay here and wait for the all-clear." He made no mention of his former Master, and if Padmé noticed she did not comment. "It's most likely a smuggling vessel or an unscheduled delivery."  
"And if it's not?"  
Her tone was carefully neutral, but the subtle undercurrent of fear was obvious to Anakin.  
He turned to look at her, holding her gaze firmly with his own, and stated, "There's an alternate route to the hangar bay through the exam room. We'll head there and blast out of the system through the asteroid belt." He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, the blue of his eyes softening – yet harboring a steely indigo that communicated his determination. "I'll keep you safe, Padmé, and the twins. I promise."  
He was still distressed by his inability to use the Force, but he worked to broadcast a confidence that portrayed a diluted version of his usual cocky demeanor.  
He never wanted to give Padmé a reason to doubt him.

Luke chose that moment to awaken – his squeaky cry distinctly opposite of Leia's piercing shrieks, and Padmé unbuttoned the top of her gown, humming to soothe the anxious newborn. Once Luke had quieted, Anakin heard a beautiful melody floating in the air like a warm breeze, sung in a soft, pure voice – and realized with a jolt that it was coming from his wife. She was singing to his son, even though minute shivers of fear skittered across her psyche, and Luke stared up at her with utter dependency and devotion – emotions that his father understood all too well. Two pairs of bright blue eyes studied Padmé keenly until she finished her lullaby, and then Anakin laid his chin on her shoulder, Luke's gaze shifting to his face. "I've never heard you sing before," he remarked with wonder, rearranging his body so that he sat behind her, his broad chest pressing against her back. Two long legs stretched out on either side of her, and a pair of strong arms joined hers as she cradled their firstborn to her breast.  
A contented sigh escaped from Padmé, and she leaned into his warmth trustingly. "Can you sing, Ani?"  
He nuzzled into her neck, locks of his burnished gold hair tickling her throat, and replied, "My mother used to say that anyone can sing. Sing well? Now _that's_ another story." He thought a moment as Padmé's body shook slightly with laughter. "I do remember one song that she would sing to me…but I can't remember all of the words." He sobered as memories of Shmi Skywalker's smiling face hovering above his bed filled his vision, and he fervently wished that he could recall something as trivial as the lyrics to a childhood lullaby – so that his children would know a tiny piece of their grandmother.  
The dark, curly head resting on his chest turned sideways, and Padmé eased his mind with a tender kiss in the hollow beneath his earlobe. "I could teach you mine," she suggested affectionately.  
His mouth tipped in a lopsided grin. "Would you sing it again?" He closed his eyes as she began, focusing on the feelings emanating from her that accompanied every musical passage, using it as his center to commit the lullaby to memory. Unconsciously, his right hand slipped over Padmé's and offered his index finger to Luke's tiny hands, which promptly grasped it. The sight of that small hand wrapped partially around his finger – a digit that looked and felt like flesh and blood – affected Anakin profoundly.  
A lump swelled in his throat, but he countered the nearly overwhelming emotion by making soft clucking noises at his son, waggling his finger back and forth.

That was when Padmé halted in mid-note.  
Anakin looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and saw her wide brown eyes staring incredulously at his arm. "Ani…?" Disbelief and giddiness brightened her pronunciation of his name, "Your arm…"  
He smiled into the silken skin of her neck, and gently wriggled his finger out of Luke's weakening grip as the newborn grew drowsy. Using the lightest touch of his fingertips, Anakin traced a line over Padmé's knuckles and up her arm, renewed wonder surging through him as he felt every tiny hair that rose under his caress. When he brushed the backs of his fingers across the nape of her neck, causing her to shiver, he was suddenly reminded of the first time he had touched her intimately with a flesh right hand.  
He would never forget it.  
In that timeless instant Anakin was transported to a sun-dappled terrace overlooking a mirror-smooth lake, speaking nonsensically about his dislike of sand while fighting the urge to stroke the creamy expanse of Padmé's bare skin. And almost unconsciously, as he was babbling on about "soft and smooth", he felt silken warmth beneath his fingers and stared in a mixture of shock and joy at his hand against her forearm as it was resting comfortably on the stone balustrade. His breath escaped him in a rush when she did not withdraw or tell him to remember his place, and the desire for more overruled decorum as he bit his lower lip and trailed the backs of his fingers along the soft skin on her back.

She turned to look at him, dark velvety eyes searching his expression. He sensed her timidity, her fear of a potentially lethal relationship, and her nervous anticipation for something he had wanted so desperately to do for nearly ten years. He tried to ease her with a quirky half-smile, but then her gaze dropped to his mouth and he was hopelessly lost in a wave of intense need. He had never kissed a woman before; physical signs of affection were generally discouraged by the Jedi Order, and the only one he had ever wanted to kiss was one that he had lamented he would never see again. He lowered his head hesitantly as Padmé lifted her chin, and their lips met – and a bolt of electricity shot through his body, igniting every nerve he possessed. He leaned closer, deepening the kiss as he pressed his mouth more firmly against hers, and the slight friction he sensed when she responded only served to spur him on.  
And he knew that despite all of the brush-offs, the icy stares, and the diligent compulsion of duty and responsibility that drove her through life…she had _wanted_ him to kiss her.  
She wanted _him_.

It had been a defining moment in his short life. Even though she had not admitted it until much later – Anakin had known in the depths of his being that they were meant to be together. And more than four years later, here they were – husband and wife, with two little stars sharing their genes who were their gifts to one another and a tangible symbol of their love.  
His fingers floated down her back, following the woven pattern of her braid, and with a slight tug, Anakin loosened Padmé's thick curls so that they spilled around her slim shoulders. He laid his right palm on the glossy tresses reverently, and Padmé turned her head to peer at him askance. Her brown eyes glowed like embers, and his palm slid from her hair to caress her blushing cheek. "Do you like it?" Anakin asked with a huge smirk brightening his handsome face. Her only response was the unwavering luminous gaze and the soft kiss she gave his thumb as it passed over her lips, prompting a shudder to race through him.  
Her attention shifted to the infant in her arms, and Luke's tiny eyelids were closed in sleep.  
Padmé fastened her gown and transferred her son to her lap beside his sister. They looked so small, so utterly helpless from where they huddled together against her knees – what would that sadistic monster who called himself Emperor do to them if they were captured?  
A red-hot stab of terror scalded her heart as that horrible thought took root in her mind. She knew what Palpatine would do to her precious babies…he would turn them into creatures of the dark side, as he had attempted and nearly succeeded to do with her Ani – or he would kill them to avoid a would-be threat to his chokehold on the galaxy.  
Anakin's warm embrace encircled her, tenderly urging her to recline into his chest, and she leaned back gratefully, inwardly chastising herself for her pessimism. His heartbeat thudding dully against her comforted her raw emotions, and while he kept his arms locked around her she placed her palms on each twin's stomach to feel the soft rise and fall as they breathed.

Anakin was not sure how long he and his family had sat on the closet floor, but his need for sleep was nearly overpowering the fierce protectiveness that compelled him to remain alert. And Padmé was not helping.  
His angel was fading in and out of awareness, and her quiet, rhythmic breathing was echoed by Luke and Leia, insulating them in a bubble of tranquility. He wanted to join them…  
A shrill beep issued from the console on the opposite wall and Padmé jerked awake, the abrupt movement unsettling the twins. They began to fuss in their mother's lap, and Padmé worked on calming them as Anakin maneuvered his large frame from behind her and clambered to his feet. He stared down at them for a moment, meeting his wife's wide dark eyes, and said quietly, "Stay here." She nodded, and watched as he made his way to the console and depressed a switch next to a blinking yellow light.  
A quarter-size holo of Administrator Tuun appeared atop the console and pronounced with unmistakable relief, "It is all right, Anakin – there is no danger to you or your family. Our visitors are friends." Anakin heard Padmé's heavy sigh and glanced over a shoulder, flashing her a quick grin.  
"The ship has been identified as the _Tantive IV_."

A burst of puzzled surprise sent ripples from Padmé and into Anakin, and he turned halfway around to look at her. "What is it?"  
"I know that ship." Her delicate features were scrunched up as she concentrated, skimming her memory, and then her expression smoothed out and she replied with some surprise, "That's Bail Organa's vessel."  
Anakin frowned in confusion. "Senator Organa? What would he be doing here?" Padmé shrugged, and Anakin turned back to the Administrator. "Have you given him clearance to land?"  
"Yes – Master Kenobi was quite adamant about that. He is on his way to the hangar bay as we speak. He also asked me to inform you that Senator Organa told Port Control that he has a very important passenger who would like to see you. Jedi Master Yoda."


	17. The Burdens That We Bear

**Chapter Twelve  
**_**The Burdens That We Bear**_

_I am not alone.  
_It was the one and only thought that pumped blood through his veins, urging his body to move faster and push beyond the stabs of pain in his leg and the sharp ache in his side. Obi-Wan felt his spirit lighten with each step closer to the hangar bay, and cheerfully recalled the instant he realized that his life would not be the sole monument to the desecrated Jedi Order.  
Staring at the Port Control viewscreen, the Jedi Master had known right away that the newly arrived vessel was not an Imperial Star Destroyer. Instead of the easily recognized triangular shape, their "visitor" was a blockade-runner of Corellian design – a diplomatic cruiser. And then the ship's ID flashed upon the screen. Obi-Wan's brow had wrinkled in confusion. Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan – in the outskirts of the Rim worlds? Before he could get much farther in his contemplations, another Force presence brushed against his psyche. Like the swell of the tide as it breaks across the shore, this presence was at once familiar and foreign, due to Obi-Wan's damaged perceptions. He had tried to withdraw, as trust was now an unknown emotion in this blackened universe – when the slightest flash of insight gave him pause. In his mind's eye, he saw an unfathomably deep green gaze staring at him from across the stars, and felt a burst of surprised delight emanating from a mind as ancient as it was wise.

With a fresh surge of energy, Obi-Wan rounded a corner – narrowly avoiding a passing med droid – and skidded to a halt before the hangar bay control room's main viewport. As he watched with increasing joy, the _Tantive IV_ floated through the hangar doors and settled on the floor, jets of air erupting from its underbelly. Once he was certain that the hangar bay atmosphere was pressurized with breathable air, Obi-Wan quickly entered the turbolift, slapping the control panel to take him down to the main floor.  
He slipped between the turbolift doors as soon as they opened, loping towards the ship with an awkward gait because of his cast, but he no longer noticed the injury. The boarding ramp hissed open, lowering to the bay's metallic floor, and Obi-Wan glimpsed a diminutive figure standing at the threshold.  
Relief flooded his entire being, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude to the Force for protecting the eldest of the Jedi caused  
Obi-Wan to fall to his knees. All that he had experienced since the birth of Anakin's children had taught his dying heart to feel again in the aftermath of the slaughter at the Jedi Temple. And now his heart felt too much at one time.  
In the past, he would have used his training to hold back the torrent of emotions and remain centered in the present moment. But now, he let the torrent wash over him, making him feel more alive than he had been for the last three years.

The hunched figure slowly descended the ramp, soft taps issuing from the gnarled wooden cane in his hand, and Obi-Wan looked up with blurred eyes as Master Yoda's wizened face peered into his own. The ancient Jedi's green eyes were unusually bright, and they gazed at one another in silence for some time – brothers in an Order that had been crushed…but not destroyed. Then, Yoda placed a clawed hand on the younger Master's shoulder and said softly, "Pleased I am to see you, young Obi-Wan."  
"Master…" Obi-Wan swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, fighting to regain control of his wayward emotions. "I am –" he paused, searching for the right word, "–glad that you are here."  
Yoda nodded, a quiet chuckle rumbling from his chest. "Knew I did, that here I am needed." Instantly, the old Master's countenance faded into pondering seriousness as he spoke, "Strange echoes have I felt in the Force. Unable to interpret them, I am.  
But widespread are these ripples, and detect them, the Emperor will." Yoda's brow rose just slightly, and he gestured for Obi-Wan to stand. "Answers, you have for me?"  
Obi-Wan released a long, deep sigh and pushed himself to his feet. "Follow me, Master. We have a lot to talk about."

------------

There was nothing worse than lying to oneself.  
And yet Anakin had done it for nearly the whole of his life. Growing up as a reckless, bold child on Tatooine, he went through the motions of his daily chores and Watto's orders as if he chose to obey – rather than being forced into submission as a slave. As an apprentice in the stagnant, emotionless vacuum of the Jedi Temple, he lived as though nothing and no one could touch him – not the heartache of missing his mother nor the ceaseless whispers and stares of his peers. While maturing under Obi-Wan's tutelage as a Padawan, he tried to pretend that he was learning to be the stoic, passive Jedi that he was expected to become…but there had been moments – _many_ moments – when he allowed his personality to contradict the mold that his education was constraining him to fill.  
He could recall only one point in his life when all of the lies he told himself had fallen away…and that had been the heartbeat after Padmé had whispered that she loved him. Since then, the lies merely intensified.

He wore many masks as he wandered and fought throughout the galaxy. He was the great Jedi Knight that Obi-Wan had been proud to train. He was The Hero With No Fear that the citizens of the Republic revered and celebrated. He was the husband that strived with every fiber of his being to make Padmé happy and give her the love she so rightfully deserved. He had done all these things – lived all these lives – for so long and become so good at feigning that he was capable of everything expected of him…it was all too easy for him to lose sight of his internal darkness while basking in so much light. The light radiating from his angel, sending glitters of contentment and love across their bond as it fostered the glow of the spark in his chest. And the pure, innocent light that illuminated Luke and Leia's tiny faces and intuitive eyes, combined with their mother's luminous soul made him forget the bloodstains on his hands.

Now, as the name of the oldest, most powerful Jedi rang in his eardrums, the crushing weight of his sins thrust Anakin back into harsh reality. His knees threatened to buckle, so he braced both palms atop the console, lowering his head as the room spun dizzily before his eyes. The small holo of Administrator Tuun was calling his name, yet Anakin could form no reply. Voices called out all around him – shrieking, begging, shouting his name in horror and shock – and bodies fell before him like toppled trees, but he had not spared them a second glance – focusing instead on the shaft of blue-white light in his hand and the imprint of Padmé's agonized, tear-streaked face upon his mind from his nightmares.  
There was a flurry of movement behind him, which Anakin barely noticed, and then a small, slim hand wrapped around his large, shaking one – and from the corner of his eye he saw wisps of brown curls brushing against a slender, white-clad waist. Padmé's Senatorial voice carried authoritatively in the small room as she replied, "Thank you for informing us of the situation, Administrator. Anakin and I will remain here with our children until Masters Yoda and Kenobi contact us."  
She kept an unblinking gaze locked on the Administrator's projection as he bowed and faded from view, and then squeezed her husband's quivering hand. "Ani." Receiving no response, Padmé linked her other arm through his, pressing herself against him gently – and alarm sped up her pulse when she felt him shaking violently. "Ani, are you all right?"

Without warning, Anakin's large frame crumpled, bringing them both to the floor, for Padmé had not the strength to support his muscular weight even if she were not still weakened from the delivery. Her hip struck the hard floor jarringly, but the pain was fleeting as her focus was solely on her husband. "Anakin!" She cried out, their limbs a tangled jumble of white, "Anakin, what's wrong?"  
He was slumped over like a rag doll, his chin nearly touching his chest, tremors wracking his strong body…and for an eye blink, Padmé was suddenly back on the ruined veranda, soaked with rain as the man she loved sobbed with all of the grief in the universe. "Anakin…" She scooted closer to him, coiling a slender arm around his broad shoulders so he could feel her beside him, and with her free hand she gently coaxed him to raise his head, cupping his cheek in her palm. The back of her throat prickled with sadness when she felt moisture under her fingertips.  
Wide, cerulean orbs awash with tears locked onto her gaze, and a desperate, throaty voice Padmé barely recognized as Anakin's muttered bleakly, "I can't do this. I can't face them – I just can't." Shadows of what had transpired within the halls of the Jedi Temple still flashed across his vision, even as he willed himself to concentrate on Padmé's warm dark eyes. "I…I betrayed them. I betrayed them all, and I killed…" His gaze fell; he could not bear to look into his angel's eyes as he relived his sins. "I killed…their friends, their students, their _family_…" The Jedi had never been Anakin's family, although Obi-Wan and occasionally Padmé tried to convince him that they were. He thought of Obi-Wan as a brother, and some of the others could be considered comrades-in-arms, but the rest – they had been simply faces in the crowd. But each of those faces had been a life – a soul, full of hopes and dreams and the promise of a bright future – and he had treated their deaths as callously as a woodcutter felling trees, clearing a path through the forest because it was required of him. And the Younglings…

His eyes immediately sought out the tiny sparks of hope whose mere presence had revived Padmé's spirit and filled his battered heart with a love so pure and so vast he'd have never thought it possible, nestled safely in their blankets on the storage closet floor. If anyone ever tried to harm them… He shuddered at the memory of the unbridled rage and darkness that had coursed through his veins in the bunker on Mustafar. He was certain that black moment in the midst of red heat and chaotic flames would pale in comparison to what he would be capable of if anything happened to his angel or their little stars. And that wisp of thought terrified him more than anything else. Because he knew that it was still inside of him – it had to be, for evil never gives up its prey so easily.  
He was…_stained_.  
He had touched the dark side in its purest, most toxic form – he had immersed himself in it, expecting never to surface if it would avert the unbearable fate that his nightmares had pronounced for Padmé. Now his beautiful, precious angel was irreversibly tied to him – their souls bonded almost as one, sharing thoughts and emotions as freely as the air they breathed – and Anakin was horrified that whatever darkness might yet defile his soul would contaminate Padmé's fiercely burning light, using their link as a conduit.  
An angel…sharing her soul with a fallen hero, a traitor, and a murderer.  
_That's what I am – a murderer._

Two slim hands gripped his face, turning his head until Padmé filled his vision, her brown eyes blazing with intense conviction. "No, Anakin," she said firmly, and Anakin abruptly realized that he must have spoken his last thought aloud. "No. You are not a murderer. You are not that man – not anymore, and I don't care what Obi-Wan, Yoda, or the rest of the galaxy says or thinks. I _know_ you."  
A droplet of saltwater sparkled on her eyelashes and splashed onto her cheek, and instinctively Anakin lifted a hand, brushing away the stray tear with his thumb. Padmé paused briefly, struggling with her emotions as the achingly tender and familiar gesture threatened to break her rigid self-control, and then she repeated, "I know you – better than anyone else, even Obi-Wan. And I know that you are different." She could see the doubt coloring the jewel-like facets in his blue irises. "I know," she insisted passionately and grabbed his right hand, pressing it to her bosom – right over her heart. "In _here_, I know that you are not the same. You are not a Sith."  
Anakin swallowed hard, and tried to pull his hand away, but Padmé held it against her chest with surprising strength. "A Sith would have no regrets, no craving for forgiveness, and would not allow himself to feel remorse – even if he should. But _you_ feel all these things, and that tells me what I already know: you are a different man."  
Her expression shone with a quiet, intense inner light, and Anakin was drawn towards it helplessly, like a moth to a flame. He leaned over quickly, touching their foreheads together and murmured in a low, anxious voice, "Being a different man does not change the past. It cannot undo what I have done. I don't _deserve_ their forgiveness, Padmé – how can I even ask for it?"  
"Forgiveness is never 'deserved,' Ani, and it cannot be earned, either. It takes a great deal of courage to ask for forgiveness – but it takes a great deal more to show mercy."

He pulled back a little to meet her eyes, staring at her in amazement – something he experienced frequently around her. Her wisdom and discernment was truly a rare gift, and she never used it for her own benefit – only in the service and betterment of others.  
Padmé watched some of the despondency ebb from his blue eyes, and she stroked his cheek gently, shaking her head with mild disbelief. "If Yoda cannot see how much you've changed, then he is not the wisest of the Jedi Masters," she announced in a feeble attempt at levity.  
This wrung a small half-smile out of him, and then he looked around as if suddenly remembering where he was. His brow furrowed in confusion as he wondered why they were sitting on the floor, and then he glanced at his wife with concern. "You shouldn't be on the floor – you need to rest." He scrambled to his feet, and before Padmé could draw another breath he enfolded her in his arms, lifting her from the floor.  
As much as she enjoyed being coddled by her husband, Padmé remarked pointedly as he carried her towards the bed, "I _can_ walk, you know, Ani."  
"I know." He flashed her a quick grin that didn't reach his eyes, and laid her carefully on the mattress. "But you're not supposed to move so much too quickly or it'll put too much strain on your body." Padmé smiled inwardly. She knew that he would be doing his research – her Ani was, if anything, an overachiever. "It takes time to heal, Padmé," he added, fluffing her pillows as she settled on the bed.

Padmé quirked an eyebrow. "This from the man that said he could do Form I lightsaber moves with cracked ribs and a broken collarbone." They shared a quiet laugh, although it was more for the purpose of consoling one another than for actual humor. One of the twins moaned, and Padmé sat up with a startled gasp. "Ani! I left them on the –"  
"I know," he murmured soothingly, laying a finger over her lips, "I'll get them." Anakin headed over to the closet, bent down, and swept Luke into his arms. He stifled a chuckle when he saw how intently Padmé was watching him carry their son, but he couldn't fault her for worrying – it was just that she needn't have, because Anakin was more than determined to be the best father ever to Luke and Leia. But he was not about to give up an opportunity to tease her, so he stopped at her bedside and inquired mock-seriously, "Do I pass your inspection, Milady?"  
She blinked, and opened her mouth to admonish him – but it snapped shut an instant later as she felt her face heat in embarrassment. Her eyes silently told him in no uncertain terms that he was going to get it, and he turned to put Luke in the crib so Padmé wouldn't see the smirk curving his lips. When his son was tucked in comfortably, Anakin reclaimed Leia from the floor and placed her alongside her brother, his large fingers working deftly to ensure that both infants were wrapped snugly in their blankets. His smile of parental delight melted from his expression as a grim notion entered his mind.

If Master Yoda and Obi-Wan did not or refused to see his repentance, what then would be done with him? More importantly, what would happen to his family? Jedi had been banished before; would they send him into the Unknown Regions?  
_I'd like to see them try, _a shadowy voice whispered in the back of his skull – but it was swiftly silenced by an overwhelming sense of defeat. He was no Jedi – or a Sith, for that matter. The Force had abandoned him, or he had abandoned it to escape his fate – it made no difference. He could not challenge the eventual decree of the two remaining Jedi Masters even if he wanted to – he was an average citizen of the galaxy, now.  
And if he was banished, he would almost certainly go alone.  
He would live out the rest of his days without his angel…and would never see their little stars grow up and set the universe ablaze with their bright light. They would be Jedi – he had sensed it days ago, shortly after Padmé had told him of her pregnancy. What else would they become, with him as their father?  
But…if he was banished and cut off from his one source of happiness…would Obi-Wan take them away from their mother? It had been the practice of the Order for millennia to separate Force Sensitive children from their families in order to avoid the trap of attachment. Would his old Master do that?  
And if Padmé lost both him and their twins…

_No._ This voice was full of strength, and resounded from somewhere deep within his being. He would never allow that to happen.  
He cared not what Yoda and Obi-Wan did to him – but he would not allow any mistreatment, any shred of unhappiness to befall his family.  
With that resolute promise ringing within the caverns of his heart, Anakin slowly turned from the sleeping twins to face Padmé, who was regarding him with somber and compassionate dark eyes. "Do you think you can sleep?" she asked, although she could predict his answer. He shook his head, looking aside as he bit his lower lip. When he glanced back at her, she glimpsed that little blonde-haired boy that had both charmed and astonished her all those years ago, and she understood that he was feeling as lost as that little boy had, sitting in a strange ship's main hold without his mother – and had looked to her for reassurance.  
Padmé's face softened, and she patted the empty spot next to her on the bed. "Stay with me?"  
Anakin moved immediately, just waiting for someone to tell him what to do. He crawled under the covers, and she tucked herself into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. He tightened his embrace slightly – careful of her mending body yet wanting to make sure that she felt safe – and dropped a tender kiss on her brow. Warm breath tickled her ear, and he whispered, "Forever."

------------

Silence was a state of being that Obi-Wan was vastly unaccustomed to experiencing in recent times. He found it both peaceful and disconcerting – a contradiction that puzzled him to no end. Nevertheless, he quieted his thoughts by drawing from the immense reservoir of patience that had been quite useful during Anakin's apprenticeship, and simply waited. Watching the stars flicker amid the ebony expanse of deep space and the asteroids endlessly circling Polis Massa's gravity well outside of the conference room's numerous viewports, Obi-Wan became dimly aware that his throat felt dry. The lengthy monologue he had delivered to Master Yoda seemed to have released the buildup of tension in his soul; he must have spoken for over an hour, pausing only for breath or to reorder his emotions, and now he waited for the wisest being in the galaxy to give him the answers he craved. Or at least _some_ of the answers.

Obi-Wan now knew that Palpatine had survived the battle with Yoda; he had suspected as much, given the haunting quality in the old Jedi's expression as he had listened to Obi-Wan's narrative. Yoda had not disclosed any detail of what had transpired between him and the Sith Lord, and he probably never would – but Obi-Wan had noticed the absence of Yoda's lightsaber on his belt, and there were other, smaller signs as well – visible to one who spent a considerable amount of time in the Jedi Master's presence. In fact, Yoda had said significantly little since his initial arrival on Polis Massa. He had absorbed Obi-Wan's words in complete silence, eyes blinking slowly at occasional intervals, his expression unchanging – and when the younger Master concluded, Yoda made a tiny noise in the back of his throat and then closed his eyes, settling further into his chair.  
And that was how they had remained – without any concept of time – seeking guidance from the Force.  
Obi-Wan desperately wanted to know if Anakin's…_attack_ on the Force had affected Yoda in any way, but thus far the ancient Jedi Master had demonstrated a proficiency in the Force characteristic of the most powerful Force Sensitive in existence – second only to the Chosen One – who, as of this moment, was a dead spot within the Force.

Obi-Wan gave up on striving to concentrate on the view, shifting in his seat as little as possible to study Yoda's face. The dusky green, wrinkled face that had a place in his earliest memories was surprisingly smooth, but every so often the brow furrowed slightly, almost as if the old Master was having a conversation. Obi-Wan found it very interesting, and contented himself with the idea that if both he and Yoda had lived through the Emperor's betrayal – perhaps other Jedi were still alive, as well.  
He wondered then why he no longer considered that atrocity to be Anakin's betrayal, too. Treachery was the way of the Sith; if the Council had been aware that the leader of the Republic was a Sith Lord, they would have expected something like this to occur. Maybe it was because his old friend was both the betrayed and the traitor.  
"_Why are you asking this of me?"  
_Anakin had felt betrayed by the Jedi Council for granting him a seat, and then denying him the rank of Master. The sting had only deepened when Obi-Wan relayed to him the assignment that the Council wanted him to undertake, off the record – spying on the Supreme Chancellor. An act, which Anakin had stated heatedly and truthfully, went directly against the Jedi Code. _"No Jedi shall interfere with the affairs of government – be it local, regional, planetary or galactic."_ A rule that was open to subjective interpretation, but its meaning was irrefutable: the Jedi had no standing in the politics of government. Their duty was to the _people_, not their leaders.  
But he had seen the accusation and the traces of frustration in Anakin's blue eyes as Obi-Wan tried to justify the actions of the Council when he himself did not believe that it was right.  
"_The Council is asking you."_

They had expected far too much from him.  
Could he actually fault Anakin for his anger against the Council's apparent hypocritical dealings with both him and the Senate as a whole? Could he rebuke the young man's inflated sense of pride when the entire Republic – including those on the Council – looked to him as the bringer of peace to a war-torn galaxy? Anakin had felt trapped – backed into a corner with no foreseeable means of escape. He would have taken any, _any_ way out.  
"_You're going to need me on this one, Master."  
_He had turned to Obi-Wan first – using flippant, light-hearted banter to disguise his growing desperation. The Jedi Master had dismissed the faint impression he had sensed from his friend as Anakin's thirst for adventure, but then Anakin apologized for disappointing him with his attitude – a frequent apology, to be sure, but that time it had been so unmistakably sincere, like he was sorry for something that had not yet happened…  
_I should have seen it. I should have helped you, Anakin._ Obi-Wan's gaze fell to the floor, his head lowering sadly. _But I could not see beyond my own expectations for you. That was why you never told me about your marriage to Padmé. _He did not regret his failure to confront Anakin about his supposedly dangerous attachment anymore. His only regret was that he had not proven trustworthy enough for Anakin – his brother in all but blood – to seek his aid.  
And any trapped creature turns aggressive when it feels threatened.

No, the betrayal had not been Anakin's. It had been fostered by Palpatine, and implemented by Vader, his Sith apprentice – not Anakin. Obi-Wan had thought that Anakin Skywalker was dead, but he had been resurrected by Padmé's love and strengthened by the arrival of Luke and Leia.  
A twinge of apprehension prickled Obi-Wan's spine.  
Anakin was alive…but that did not mean that Vader was dead – nor could he be killed. The dark side is a part of everyone – appealing to base passions and the shadowy nature of selfishness. A Jedi is taught to resist such temptation; as to embrace it means disaster and a fall into the twisted version of what it means to be a Jedi. Obi-Wan knew that Anakin was more wary of the dark side now…but the mental and emotional barriers instilled in him during his training were either eroded or gone, and once he regained even the smallest measure of the Force – the darkness would take him.  
But perhaps he was giving the dark side too much credit.  
Anakin defined his life by the ones he loved – after all, he had agreed to become Palpatine's apprentice purely because he had thought the dark side held the secrets of life and death, and a way to keep his wife with him. He sold himself into slavery in order to save Padmé…and in the end, she was the one saving him.  
The irony was commendable, to say the least.

Anakin's love for Padmé and their children was at once his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.  
How the young man would be able to resolve the balance between those two extremes, only the Force knew. But Obi-Wan _did_ know that he would gladly give his last breath to protect the Skywalker family.  
It was an absurd notion, since not two days ago he had been prepared to kill Anakin – but now it was one of the few things in his life that made sense.  
He raised his head, observing that Polis Massa's sun was visible in the rightmost viewport, as opposed to the center, where it had been when he and Yoda first entered the conference room.  
Somewhat amazed by the amount of time that had passed, Obi-Wan moved his stiffened shoulders – and froze when he glimpsed Yoda's green eyes slowly open. "Master Kenobi," he said quietly, his thoughts indiscernible as his gaze remained fixed on the stars.  
"Yes, Master?"  
"Time it is, to send for Anakin. From him, answers do I need." He met Obi-Wan's stare, and each was suddenly and vividly reminded of the last conversation they had about the young man. Obi-Wan tried to see the faintest hint of what the elder Jedi Master was thinking, but Yoda's eyes were shuttered and his Force signature was carefully guarded – a precaution against the Emperor.  
But Yoda had called Anakin by his name.  
"I will send for him," Obi-Wan replied as he came to his feet. Striding into the Administrator's office, his back to Yoda, Obi-Wan allowed himself to feel the tiniest glimmer of optimism. He honestly had no idea how the ancient Jedi would react to Anakin, or what he might have in store – for Yoda was rarely predictable. But Yoda never wasted a word. He had deliberately used Anakin's name rather than his Sith title – surely that counted for _something_. Obi-Wan surmised that Yoda was reserving his final judgment until he spoke to Anakin face to face, and then he would either incriminate or redeem himself in the eyes of the remnants of the Jedi Order.

Administrator Tuun was just returning to his office when Obi-Wan approached and requested, "Administrator, would you please contact Anakin and have him join us in the conference room as soon as possible? We have some matters to discuss."  
He said this in a mild, noncommittal tone – but Tuun had an affinity for the seriousness of their situation and responded immediately. "Of course, Master Kenobi. I'll contact him at once."  
Obi-Wan nodded his thanks and returned to the conference room. Yoda was sitting in the exact same position, gazing intently at the view…and Obi-Wan was suddenly struck by the magnitude of what was about to occur. Anakin would be asked to recount his actions – and Yoda, and Obi-Wan himself would make a decision on how to proceed. It was a trial in every sense of the word.  
Obi-Wan had done his best to describe the changes he had witnessed in Anakin's demeanor as well as his behavior towards Padmé and their children, and what he had sensed in the birthing room…but he had not mentioned his peculiar vision. He was not entirely certain he _should_ mention it – just the memory of what he had seen and heard made his skin tingle and caused a chill to seep into his veins. Besides, he knew that it would not make a difference with whatever path the future took from this moment on.  
That was up to Anakin.

------------

She always had a way of making him feel safe.  
Padmé's slight, soft warmth rested comfortably against him, with one hand splayed on his chest as the other tenderly stroked the back of his neck. She shifted briefly, her head tucked securely under his chin, and Anakin tightened his embrace just noticeably, gently rubbing her arm with his palm. Her long, dark curls pooled around them atop the mattress, and he twirled one loose strand around his finger with deliberate care, watching the light catch traces of gold and auburn in the glossy spiral. And he could think of no better way to spend his time than simply enjoying Padmé's nearness.  
Anakin knew that he should try and get some sleep – he was barely functioning on five or six hours' rest within a 60-hour time period, and the exhaustion would overcome him in due course. He was certain that his wife's goal was to lull his racing thoughts to a standstill and help him fall asleep; the way she wrapped her body around his and caressed his skin immediately soothed his tensed muscles, and he had to fight hard to stay awake. He wanted to cherish every second that he had with her and the twins.  
Both of them were trying to pretend that they were not waiting for the galaxy to come crashing down on their heads, and while Anakin held his angel in his arms he began to believe that peace was more than just a vague inclination. He could accept the steadfast trust that Padmé placed in the man that she saw when she looked at him – and for a handful of heartbeats he almost saw himself as that man. Almost.

But the lie had lost its power, and the masks had all fallen away – exposing his true self to the universe, and to himself. It was the one aspect of the Trials that Obi-Wan was never entirely convinced that he had passed – the ability to face one's reflection without fear, and accept who one has become.  
Hence, the reason for the lie to exist in the first place.  
Because Anakin could not peer into his inner being and just…_accept_ what he saw. It was easier and far more beneficial to display countless versions of Anakin Skywalker, and strive to be whoever was most needed, whenever he was needed. And that mindset had left him with no sense of identity at all. Instead of providing him with the mental grounding he had sought throughout the whole of his life, the lie had stripped him bare like a sapling in the dead of winter. There was nothing left to hide behind anymore.  
At least he knew now who he wanted to become. He glimpsed that man within Padmé's velvety chestnut orbs each time she looked at him, and when he watched Luke and Leia's sweet expressions light up as he held them in his arms. He wished with every fiber of his being that he would have the opportunity to become that man after he paid the consequences for his actions.

Anakin cast aside thoughts of the impending confrontation with Yoda and Obi-Wan, and craned his neck to the side, attempting to see his wife's face. No matter how much he turned his head, all he could make out was a curly mass of dark hair that smelled faintly of the gardens saturating the grounds of the Lake Country villa. He pressed a light kiss on the crown of Padmé's head, and then his blue gaze slid sideways to the crib that butted up against their bed. Anakin had pushed the sleeping twins as close as possible, stating practically that it was easier on her to keep them nearby – but that was only part of the reason. He wanted to see their perfect, tiny faces, and have the freedom to reach out and touch their small bodies without leaving his angel's side. His eyelids slowly closed without his consent as he envisioned taking his family to Naboo. He could think of no better place to raise their children, for Naboo was filled with light and warmth and life – and Padmé was always happiest when she was amongst its lush flora and sparkling waters.  
In his mind's eye, they were standing on the veranda, watching the stars come out…and the air was perfumed by thousands of blossoms while Padmé smiled up at him, Leia tugging on her hair as Luke's tiny fingers stretched towards the heavens…

A sharp, high-pitched beep jolted Anakin out of his short-lived rest, and his eyes snapped open as his body jerked in surprise.  
Padmé pushed herself up on an elbow, searching his eyes, and Anakin found her expression completely unreadable, save for the faint echo of distress traveling between their bond. He brushed a fingertip along one smooth cheek and resolutely fell back into his place on the mattress, gently pulling Padmé down with him. She settled into her previous position, but he felt the tenseness in her slim frame as the noise trilled again. After a minute of silence, Administrator Tuun's voice issued from the console. "Jedi Skywalker?"  
So, it was back to the formalities. "Yes?"  
"Masters Yoda and Kenobi are waiting for you in the conference room."  
Padmé buried her face into Anakin's chest, and he rubbed her back soothingly as he replied, "I'll be right there." He waited until the comm shut off with a barely audible click, and then enfolded his wife in his arms, cradling her against him. "I should go," he murmured into her hair, and her head bobbed slightly as she nodded in agreement. He reluctantly slipped from her embrace and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed beside the twins' crib. Anakin looked down at their slumbering forms, shoulders rising and falling with a deep sigh, and prepared to stand.  
Two slender arms ensnared him with startling strength, and Anakin felt Padmé's lips against his ear as she whispered in a fierce, broken voice, "Stay."

He squeezed his eyes shut in agony, and she continued pleading, "Stay with me – with us. You don't have to see them. They have no authority over you. You're not a Jedi, anymore; you're not the Chosen One, The Hero With No Fear – you're just a man. You're just Anakin Skywalker, and you're my husband and Luke and Leia's father." Her words began to mingle with shuddering breaths and choked tears. "I won't let them take you away from me again… I…" Then she repeated the phrase he had uttered not two days ago.  
"I can't lose you – not again. Not now, not ever…" Her tears moistened the collar of his shirt, and she pressed herself to him, holding his broad frame in place as she cried quietly into his shoulder.  
Anakin finally had the answer that he had yearned for since the day Padmé had told him that she loved him.  
She needed him.  
She needed him as much as he needed her.  
And it was all the motivation necessary for him to take the next step – to confront the horror of his past.  
He twisted a little in her tight grasp, moving very slowly and carefully so she would not think that he was trying to escape, and surrounded her trembling body with his strong arms. She melted into the warm embrace that had only ever held her, and did not resist as Anakin lay down on the bed, still holding her close. Padmé hid her face in the thin fabric covering his toned, muscular chest, the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat bringing a small bit of comfort to her anxious mind. "Padmé," he murmured in that deep, loving voice she found impossible to ignore, and pulled away slightly, waiting for her to look at him.

With the quivering timidity of a frightened child, Padmé raised her head, tangled brown ringlets partially obscuring her expression as the loose strands clung to her damp cheeks. Gentle, calloused fingers tucked her tresses behind an ear, and she took a deep breath in an effort to halt the steady flow of tears before gazing into his sky-colored eyes.  
Anakin felt his heart clench with misery as he studied his wife's face, arranged in an expression that should not exist on her beautiful, delicate features. Her ivory cheeks were blotched red from crying, and bore further evidence of tears by the sheen of moisture trailing from her eyes. Within her large, velvety brown orbs he saw the grief that she had managed to veil whenever they had parted during the war…but he also saw the warm undercurrent of love that permeated her stare every time she looked at him, and it made what he knew that he must do a little easier to bear.  
Cupping her face between his palms, Anakin fought hard to drive back the old feelings of guilt and unworthiness when confronted by Padmé's sorrow, and gave her a feeble, lopsided smile. "You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?" He remarked cryptically, and the corner of Padmé's mouth barely lifted. He leaned into her, brushing feather-light kisses on her forehead, each eyelid, her soft cheeks, and her lips. After that quiet, tender moment, Anakin gazed deeply into her eyes, his thumbs caressing her cheeks as he spoke in a soft, deliberate tone, his bright blue stare wordlessly pleading with her to understand. "Padmé…you will never lose me. Never, I promise you. We are a part of each other, and that means that I will always come back to you – I will always be with you, just as you are always with me. But I can't run away from what I've done. I can't turn my back on all those lives that I helped destroy, and the justice that they deserve." Her skin paled, eyes widening in fear, and Anakin moved closer, declaring firmly, "Listen to me, Padmé: no matter what happens, I _will_ come back to you. You, and I, and the twins – are going to be a family. And whatever I have to do to atone for my crimes…I will do it, so that we will all be together. I promise."

They stared at one another for a brief eternity – two souls that had become forever entwined by love and destiny and a power far beyond comprehension – and then soft, slender fingers reached up to touch Anakin's chiseled, unshaven jaw. Padmé blinked her large, dark eyes once, and murmured, "I believe you."  
His face lit up, delighted as he always was whenever she announced her belief in him, and enveloped her in his arms, whispering into the soft skin over her collarbone, "Thank you." Padmé breathed in his familiar scent, telling herself that it would not be the last time, and as they slowly drew apart, he said quietly, "I'll say goodbye to the twins, and then I have to go." She swallowed hard, forcing back the burning sting of tears, and nodded. Anakin clambered to his feet, avoiding a glance at Padmé – because if he took that last look he might not have the willpower to resist her heart-wrenching entreaty to stay. Standing over the crib, he carefully lifted his son to his chest and kissed Luke's downy blonde head. He brushed the infant's cheek with his own, and said in the barest whisper into the tiny ear, "I'll be back soon. Look after your mother and sister for me, okay?" Anakin lowered Luke down into the blankets, and an instant later cradled Leia in his arms.  
He rubbed their noses together gently, and kissed the top of her dark head. Repeating what he had done with her brother, Anakin whispered to Leia, "Help your mother not to worry. I'll be back before you know it." He replaced his daughter in the crib beside her twin, and watched them sleep for what few seconds he could spare, memorizing their small faces and drinking in every detail. A grin quirked his mouth as his eyes roamed over the cleft in Luke's chin, and the way Leia's eyelashes lay like glossy fans on her round cheeks – and at this moment, both newborns resembled Padmé, with their peaceful expressions and the hint of a smile that curved their rosebud lips.

Then he felt warmth against his back, and a pair of slim arms wrap around his waist. He sighed and closed his eyes as Padmé laid her cheek on his shoulder blade and softly appealed, "I'll go with you."  
Vividly reminded of the first time she had spoken those words to him, Anakin nevertheless shook his head and replied, "That means more to me than I can say…but this is something I have to do alone."  
"You're never alone."  
Unable to withstand the temptation any longer, Anakin turned to face her, and she granted him that soft, brave smile, eyes shining with devotion, and tilted her chin upwards. With that silent invitation, Anakin bent down and swept her into a fierce, passionate embrace, and Padmé was dimly aware of her feet leaving the floor before the rest of the universe disappeared. All she knew was Anakin; the heat of his body, the feel of his golden hair twined around her fingers, the taste of his lips against hers…  
He made himself pull away, setting her gently onto the floor, and watched her eyelids flutter open with reluctance, her breathing as rapid and labored as his own. Padmé fell into those ardent, incredibly blue eyes that burned into her with exquisite ecstasy as he affirmed in a deep, fervent voice, "I love you."  
Her arms felt cold and inexplicably empty a heartbeat later, and Padmé blinked, glancing around the room as if in a daze, and saw his swift-moving shadow arc around the doorframe just before it slid closed. Awash in confusion and fear and hope – a mixture of contradicting emotions that she had not experienced since their last farewell – Padmé slumped to the ground in a cloud of white, her unruly curls hanging in a riotous mass around her shoulders. Staring blankly into nothingness, her heart lamented the loss of another illusion – one of her own making. It was the illusion that Anakin had at last shaken free of the destiny heaped upon him by the Jedi.  
The illusion that her Ani could finally become just that – _hers_, and Luke's, and Leia's. The illusion that he would be nothing more than an ordinary man to the galaxy…and everything to her and their twins. And she felt its loss as an icy blade plunged through her breast.

A harsh, ragged inhalation of air – a desperate, vain attempt to control the inevitable – and Padmé clamped a hand over her mouth to silence the sobs that would surely awaken her slumbering stars. Chest heaving, tears spilled from beneath closed eyelids, tumbling down her cheeks and over her fingers to be absorbed by the fabric of her hospital gown. She stumbled to her feet, silently cursing her unbalanced hormones as she lay down on the bed, grabbing Anakin's pillow. Pressing her face into the pillow, the smell of him helped her stem the flow and mute her throaty cries, keeping the noise from disturbing the twins.  
Padmé's sensible nature inwardly berated her emotions for displaying such a dramatic upheaval. She was supposed to be the strong one, the practical one, the one that thought with the head instead of the heart. She decided that she no longer cared about common sense. The man she loved more than she thought she could ever love anyone, the father of her children…could very well be on his death march, awaiting his sentence from those whom he had wronged. And for the second time in three days, Padmé Amidala Skywalker – former Queen, Senator, speaker for the Loyalist Committee, key member of the Delegation of Two Thousand, wife and mother…did not know what to do.  
"_You're never alone."  
_Her words – but as they reverberated in her mind, they were spoken in Anakin's husky, soothing voice.  
Padmé could almost feel his warm breath on her ear, and dewdrops of tranquility slowly filtered through her raw nerves, repressing the asphyxiating grip of panic. She hugged Anakin's pillow tightly, vision blurring once more with salt water, and in her heart of hearts she begged him to come back to them.

------------

Long-legged strides carried Anakin out of his family's presence and down the hallway as he repeatedly told himself not to look back, though the recurring ache in his bone marrow he suffered each time he left Padmé pained him with every step. He halted suddenly, bracing a palm on the wall as a wave of anguish ripped through him – anguish that he knew was not entirely his. Blue eyes widened in shock over the extent of her grief, and it was swiftly accompanied by a sense of dismay that was like dozens of razor-sharp blades flaying his heart.  
It was all his fault.  
It was because of him that she felt this way – that she had to hide from civilization, from the family she missed on Naboo, and that she had to even contemplate the loss of one of the three people that were keeping her from drowning in despair was tearing her apart.  
Anakin felt beads of sweat blossoming on his brow, and his head whipped around, staring down the long hall towards one door that was indistinguishable from the rest. The desire to sprint forward, take them all in his arms and never be seen or heard from again ran strong within him, heating the blood in his veins as his heartbeat pulsed rapidly against his eardrums. He actually took a step forward, before the truth of their circumstances hit him like a splash of cold water.  
If he did not at least try to earn the Jedi's forgiveness, he and his family would lose their most powerful ally. They would be forever on the run, looking over their shoulders, jumping at every shadow…was that the kind of life he wanted to give his angel and their little stars? And if he never truly came to terms with what he had done…what kind of legacy would he be leaving to his children?

Fatherhood was driving Anakin Skywalker to pursue responsibility and maturity in ways that the Jedi Order, even his marriage to Padmé, had not. And it was this newly developing facet of his character that urged him to continue on the path that he had chosen; although Padmé's sorrow bled determination out of him like an open wound, he understood that if what he hoped would happen between himself and Obi-Wan and Yoda actually took place – the sorrow she felt now would be a fleeting thing, like a passing thunderstorm on a bright summer's day.  
So he spun on heel and resumed walking onward to his original destination, while sending a wisp of thought and comfort to his angel through their bond, waiting anxiously for its message to take effect.  
Anakin released a brief sigh of relief when he felt Padmé's emotional instability level out – her worry for him did not diminish, but it was clear that his touch had alleviated the panic endangering her mind.  
His right hand balled into a fist at his side. No matter what happened next, no matter what consequences he had to pay or amends he had to make – he would find a way back to Padmé and Luke and Leia.  
They had come too far, persevered through too many obstacles and struggles to be defeated now.  
In all of his time as a Jedi, he had never felt stronger or more centered than when he was with Padmé. She was everything that he could ever hope to be, and a life without her was a life not worth living.  
The twins were as a part of his soul now as their mother; Anakin could see, even with the untrained eye, that Luke and Leia were bonding with Padmé – physically and within the Force. They recognized him, too, though he did not understand how. He would do anything for his children, his little miracles; they were a tangible symbol of the love he and Padmé shared – and if ones so pure and innocent could come from him, then perhaps there was some hope for absolution, after all.

His footsteps slowed as the door to the Administrator's office loomed at the far end of the hall, and the dense, chill fog of foreboding suffused his mind, shrouding his unflinching strength of will. Anakin raised a hand – and it froze a hairs' breadth from the door as trepidation momentarily overtook him. The last time he had entered this room, it had been with the flickering wish that his relationship with Obi-Wan could be mended – that it was not irreparable in the aftermath of so much death and destruction, wrought by his hands. But his old Master had insisted on taking the moral high ground, and Anakin was barely restraining his boiling temper when Obi-Wan had bellowed those callous remarks about Padmé…  
What had happened next was a hazy blur to Anakin. He could only recall vague flashes – like holo-images stamped upon his memory. Looking down at a fallen Obi-Wan, blood trickling into his beard from the split in his lower lip that Anakin's fist had put there, the metal hilt of the Jedi Master's lightsaber groaning with protest as his cybernetic fingers tightened around the cylinder…and then suddenly he was on the floor, brawling with his old friend in a manner Obi-Wan would call "uncivilized" – but that did not stop him from jamming his elbow into Anakin's chin.  
They had both lost control during that fiasco, and a shiver skittered down his spine when he remembered how _invigorating _it had felt to allow his anger to dictate his actions, to not hold back as he had when he was a Jedi and try to pretend that those emotions had no standing in his heart. Obi-Wan was right. If he had had the opportunity, Anakin would have grasped the searing power of the dark side without hesitation, wielding its blackness against the Jedi Master with vindictive fury.  
Then he would have lost everything.

_"I'm different now."  
_He had said that before the connection with Padmé had manifested, and in light of that event Anakin truly believed, as Padmé did, that he was different. He must find some way to prove to Yoda and Obi-Wan that he was changed – that he was not a corrupted Jedi Knight-turned-Sith Lord any longer. He must also convince them that he would never embrace the dark side again, when and if the Force returned to him. Anakin was uncertain as to how he would prevent himself from slipping backwards into "old habits" – but he felt that the key was his bond with Padmé and the love he possessed for her and their twins. He was beginning to understand that love and attachment were two very different concepts, and he wondered whether the Jedi Council had simply avoided either because one would most likely lead to the other…or because they were ignorant of both.  
He mentally shook himself. Now was not the time for an internal debate on the policies of the Order, not when he was preparing to face two of the beings whom he had hurt the most. Anakin laid his palm on the door and it opened with a soft gust of air that ruffled the tousled strands of blond on his forehead. Crossing the threshold, he threaded his way through the vacant office soundlessly and paused at the entrance to the conference room. The door was closed.

A frightened voice in the back of his mind whispered that he could still walk away – but Anakin ignored its self-seeking request. Walking away from this confrontation would only offer a temporary peace, one that would rapidly degenerate into daily torture as reminders of his crimes hounded him ceaselessly, stabbing his conscience with painful precision. And he refused to let the shadows hanging over him have the slightest margin of influence on his Padmé, or Luke and Leia. He would not permit them to carry any blemish from his mistakes. Though blood thundered dully in his ears and his soul ached for the comfort and wholeness its mate could provide, Anakin knew that this battle was for him – and him alone. He was the one that had soiled his hands with the blood of countless Jedi; the one that had sealed the Separatist leaders in the bunker on Mustafar and carved their flesh with his lightsaber; the one that had thrown away every lesson, every measure of trust and brotherhood that Obi-Wan had given in a single, violent act of betrayal.  
It was his burden to bear.  
The immense weight of stolen lives and shattered vows would surely kill him sooner or later – only by asking for forgiveness could he hope for some relief. And the only ones who could do that were behind the door that stood in front of him with all of the opaque intimidation of a durasteel wall.

Anakin watched shaking fingertips brush the cool metal, and the conference room spread before him, illuminated by dim glow panels set into the ceiling and the faint, silvery light from the myriad of stars outside the viewports on every wall. Two figures, one large and one small, sat on the left side of an oblong table in the center of the room, facing the panorama of the asteroid belt. Unmoving and silent as statues, they did not seem to know that he was here. Anakin inhaled a deep, shuddering breath of the unusually cool atmosphere and took one step forward, the quiet footfall resounding like a drum in the stillness.  
Large eyes the color of emerald leaves and orbs that mirrored a storm-tossed sea immediately swiveled to gaze at him, piercing the semi-darkness with a sharp clarity that made Anakin stumble to a halt like an animal scenting danger. Wordlessly commanding his numbed muscles to function, the young man that had changed the shape of the galaxy with one choice moved to stand before the last of the Jedi Masters – without knowing his fate, yet without fear of what might come – willingly handing over his life into the hands of those whose brethren he had slain, and clinging to the fragile thread of chance that he may be granted clemency…though it was undeserved.  
And the passage of time knotted itself around this one instance, awaiting a conclusion that would not only affect a newborn family, but all time to come.


	18. Confessions

**Chapter Thirteen  
**_**Confessions**_

He had heard it said that a person's eyes were a gateway – a portal through which to view their soul. Obi-Wan supposed that this was the reason most people would not meet the eyes of a Jedi, for fear that the deepest, most secret parts of their lives would be laid bare – when in truth, it did not matter at all.  
The Force allowed a Jedi to probe a being's surface thoughts and feelings with little or no difficulty depending on the strength of the adept's sensitivity. But when that avenue was closed, one pair of eyes could hold a lifetime's worth of emotion.

Anakin had the most expressive eyes Obi-Wan had ever seen on another human being. He had often wondered when the young man realized that his bright cerulean orbs divulged that which he kept hidden behind formidable shields within his mind; there had been many instances when he avoided Obi-Wan's gaze during the course of a conversation – particularly ones that contained any mention of Coruscant, the Senate, or what Anakin intended to do with his free time. Over the last year or so, he had learned to mimic Padmé's flat, impassive "politician" stare and, combined with his unique talent in the Force, Anakin became as unreadable as one with no emotion whatsoever. It had annoyed his former Master immensely.  
However, since their rather turbulent reunion three days ago, Obi-Wan had witnessed an overwhelming multitude of feelings inside those blue eyes, feelings that had never before been permitted to emerge – at least not around him. Remorse, pain, grief, even brief flashes of anger – these were all visible to the Jedi Master at some point, and he had seen them all during the war whenever Anakin was preoccupied or lost control of his strict emotional guard. But other feelings, as they permeated the ice-blue stare that could stop an entire battalion of clone troopers in its tracks, made Obi-Wan question whether he knew Anakin at all. Tenderness, devotion, a fierce protectiveness…all with an underlying current of love seemed to shine out of the indigo irises like a beacon, transforming the face that had once been twisted by hatred into a completely different man – one that Obi-Wan would be pleased and proud to call brother.

Yet it was the wide, saltwater-strewn eyes of the penitent that consumed Anakin's ashen expression as he stumbled into the conference room. His gaze locked on Yoda, Anakin blinked once, a shower of teardrops trailing down his cheeks and clinging to his eyelashes, and then he knelt before the ancient Jedi – first one knee, and then the other. Tears flowed unrestrained from his blue eyes, and Obi-Wan literally watched the strength ebb from the young man's powerful frame, his ragged gasps filling the darkened room. Anakin sucked in a sharp, swift breath, and his lips moved with the barest sound.  
"_I'm so sorry."  
_Sobs were torn from his throat in earnest as the last word left his mouth, and he collapsed in a shivering heap on the floor, bent over double with his face pressed into his knees. Fragments of apology filled the spaces between the harsh cries and gasps for air, and Obi-Wan swallowed hard around the tight obstruction in his throat. His hands clenched into fists at his sides to keep from reaching out to Anakin; as much as he wanted to lay a palm on the young man's back in some semblance of comfort…it was inappropriate.  
Instead, he hazarded a glance at Master Yoda.  
The old Jedi's expression was stony and inscrutable, his eyes fixed upon the huddled form at his feet. But Obi-Wan thought he saw the hard glare flicker almost imperceptively as Anakin's remorse filled the conference room, his sobs continuing unabated for many minutes. He glanced back at his old friend, wishing that there were something he could do for him, something to alleviate his pain – and it was at that instant that he felt Yoda's stare flash in his direction. Obi-Wan turned sideways to meet the Jedi Master's scrutiny head-on, not bothering to conceal his thoughts about the broken man before them. Anakin was not gone – lost forever in the black, seductive mire of the dark side. He was _alive_, and he was a husband and a father…and Obi-Wan's best friend. The emerald orbs gazing at him softened, conveying what could be defined as sympathy – but then they widened, full of meaning as they pierced Obi-Wan's stare, and phrases leapt into his brain. Phrases that he knew all too well.

_There is no emotion; there is peace.  
_Antipathy burned the edges of his mind, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. It was the first time he could recall since his initial training as a Padawan that he felt disgust for the Jedi Code. The Code that he had striven to uphold and live by for nearly the whole of his life. The Code that Anakin despised, and argued against on numerous occasions. The Code that kept the Jedi tethered, fenced in from the rest of the galaxy and cut off from everything that they were expected to protect.  
Obi-Wan thrust the words from his mind – yet they returned, much more forcefully, and rang throughout his skull like a resounding gong.  
_There is no emotion; there is peace.  
_Emotion was the lifeblood of the universe – even the Jedi Council could not deny that. Obi-Wan had witnessed firsthand both the dangers and the rescuing powers of emotion. And he had also seen that peace could be found _in_ emotion, and that was a feat that rendered the entire tenet useless. What Anakin and Padmé had together was fraught with emotion, intensely strong emotion – and yes, there was danger in submitting to that intensity. And yet, what Obi-Wan had sensed emanating from Anakin as he had entered the conference room the other day, breathless with excitement about glimpsing his children from within their mother's womb…it was _peace_ – the kind that can only come from a release of all hardship and struggle. His young friend had fought in vain to bring about inner peace through countless Jedi exercises as long as Obi-Wan had known him, and all along, the answer was in the emotion that he possessed with such potency for those whom he loved.

An abstract sensation of acceptance carried the phrase from his thoughts, and another surfaced.  
_There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.  
_Obi-Wan was inclined to agree with the concept of this tenet more than any of the others. Ignorance, while comfortable and unassuming, breeds complacency and inactivity – and he had seen what ignorance had cost the Jedi as a whole. Ignorant of the enemy standing within the Chancellor's shell, the Jedi Order had spread itself thin, extending its Masters, Knights and Padawans into the far reaches of the Republic to wage war – when the real war was being fought in the heart and soul of one man – the man prophesized to bring balance to the Force.  
Obi-Wan recognized his own ignorance as well, because he had chosen not to act when he sensed Anakin's turmoil before his departure for Utapau. Perhaps if he had spoken to his old Padawan, or taken him on the mission to stop Grievous…things would have turned out quite differently.  
But he could not place the blame entirely on his inaction – or Anakin's reaction, for that matter.  
Ignorance may be a well-disguised trap, but knowledge was a rancor on a silken leash – power barely controlled. Knowledge separated the wise from the fools, the leaders from the followers, and it became a well-used tool for those who knew how to tame its tempestuous nature. Too much knowledge, however, could make one's mind snap. Anakin could appreciate that more than anyone.  
The Jedi Master had no idea how much actual knowledge Palpatine had mixed in with the lies to snare Anakin, but it must have been enough to snap the leash. But knowledge was a two-sided street; the Sith Lord's lack of knowledge of Anakin's continued existence, for example, was what kept them hidden in a far-flung nook of the galaxy. And Anakin's newfound knowledge of his onetime mentor's treachery had served to ground him more firmly on the right path.

Again, the peculiar sensation fluttered across Obi-Wan's psyche, and then called upon a new phrase.  
_There is no passion; there is serenity.  
_Anakin Skywalker was a creature of passion; it was how he fought, how he lived, and how he loved.  
Passion was both his greatest ally and his worst enemy, and Obi-Wan had observed the scale tilt from one to the other in the blink of an eye. Anakin drew upon his passion for many things. For clarity of thought during their madcap flight to the _Invisible Hand_ in the space battle above Coruscant; for conscience-lashing statements about loyalty and fairness after the tension-filled Council meeting; for guidance in the midst of battlefield chaos, and stepping in at the last possible moment to save another Jedi's life. And after speaking to Padmé mere hours ago, Obi-Wan knew that Anakin gave a large measure of his passion only to her, and it was that passion that had captured her attention and ultimately her heart.  
But for all of passion's obvious strengths…it had an easily exploitable weakness.  
A volatile balance.  
The slightest push, the smallest tug – and passion would turn dark and obsessive, filling its vessel with more primitive notions of protection and devotion – until passion became the conqueror, and the heart it dwells within its slave.  
Every Jedi had passions that needed to be kept under stringent control, limited by an ingrained discipline central to every Youngling's core training. After all, a Jedi was not a lifeless drone – the Force had no need for those who could not express empathy and harmony towards the universe. Rather, a Jedi was a passionate being at the heart, but it was tempered by a deep commitment to the teachings of the Order and a seriousness of mind that could only be achieved by years of instruction.

Anakin was, of course, the exception to every rule.  
By his very nature he was extremely susceptible to the lure of the dark side, for it would allow him to give his passion free rein – something that his Jedi training held severely at bay. Obi-Wan surmised that one of the main reasons Anakin behaved with such hostility towards the Code – this tenet in particular – was that he chafed under restrictions that made him deny his individuality.  
"_I can't change who I am."  
_On that point, the two friends agreed. To ask Anakin to be anything other than who he was would be to invite catastrophe…as the Jedi Council had found out, in the most horrific way imaginable.  
Yet Obi-Wan had seen, despite the young man's hot-blooded, explosive temperament, he was capable of discovering the serenity his heart required to cool the fires raging within.  
And that had everything to do with Padmé Amidala.  
She was calm, level-headed and trustworthy, possessing a restful, centered spirit that recalled the sparkling waterfalls of her homeworld – the perfect counterbalance to Anakin's charged, impulsive persona. He was hopelessly drawn to the beautiful Senator like the polar opposites of a magnet; in her, Anakin saw the peace that he craved and the one person with whom he could be completely free, and find release from the passion engulfing his soul.

"…_I thought that she would give you the balance you so desperately need."  
_And so she had, as Obi-Wan had hoped she would – for a while. But again, Anakin refused to let the teachings of the Jedi overshadow his personal desires. He became convinced that he could not exist without Padmé – the woman he saw as the embodiment of everything good and pure in his life – and the serenity he gained while in her presence was lost in the swirling vortex of confusion and despair.  
Now their souls were rooted in one another, bolstering each other's weaknesses and sharing their strengths…and in that act, Obi-Wan witnessed the beginnings of internal balance inside his young friend's scarred, battered heart.  
Passion and serenity were not contrary – they were complements of one another, for without one, the other has no standing with the soul in which it resides. The universe was full of contradictions, and it was clear to the Jedi Master that Anakin Skywalker was a living, breathing example of such a concept.

A wave of approval, like a warm breeze, wafted across his perception, and he heard Yoda's voice echo in his head, reciting the final tenet of the Jedi Code.  
_There is no death; there is the Force.  
_Comprehension raced through Obi-Wan's nerves like bolts of electricity.  
Yoda was on the verge of reaching his decision in regard to Anakin's future, and that decision could very likely be the one that Obi-Wan had scarcely allowed himself to hope for. The elder Master had simply wanted Obi-Wan to grasp his reasoning and, ever the teacher, used the Jedi Code as a guideline.  
The fragile bubble of hope in his chest deflated slightly when Yoda's sharp gaze flashed in his direction, carrying a silent reprimand about jumping to conclusions. Obi-Wan made a conscious effort to lean back in his seat and unclench his hands, the knuckles stiffened from holding the same position for an indeterminate amount of time.  
Anakin's strangled sobs were slowly abating; his breath hitched in his throat with small, quick gasps as he fought to regain control, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. He felt the ancient Jedi Master's stare on his lowered head like a weight pressing down upon him, and it was with a great deal of difficulty that he managed to lift his chin just enough to peer timidly upwards through wet lashes into the stern, weathered face. He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself to hold Yoda's stare…and then the old Jedi spoke directly to him for the first time in nearly a week, although it felt like a lifetime ago.  
"Explain everything, you will."

The shadowed blue eyes wavered for an instant, like he wanted to look away, but Anakin merely blinked, his haggard expression making him seem far older than his twenty-three years, as did his hoarse, despondent voice as he replied, "I hardly know where to begin." There was the briefest pause – so fleeting that Obi-Wan almost missed the hesitation in the silence – "Master."  
Yoda considered the young man impassively for one solid minute, completely motionless – and then something in his expression appeared to melt, and he gave a quiet sigh, shifting his hands atop his gimer stick. "After we spoke in the meditation chamber, is where you should begin."  
Obi-Wan started just noticeably, his blue-grey eyes burning with surprise and curiosity as they flickered between Yoda and Anakin. The former ignored Obi-Wan's reaction, keeping an intent gaze locked on Anakin's face, while the latter glanced at his old Master with what could almost be interpreted as an apology before returning his attention to Yoda.  
In a dull monotone, indigo eyes pleading for understanding, Anakin recited all that had transpired for him over the past four days. He recounted the tale of Darth Plagueis – how the Chancellor had insinuated that the dark side of the Force contained all of the power he needed to save Padmé from his terrifying visions. He remembered standing within a crimson-carpeted hallway, shaking with rage, the tip of his lightsaber pointing at Palpatine's throat when he realized that his mentor and friend was the enemy he had sworn to destroy. As he spoke, he felt as if he were there once again – weakened by lack of sleep, his brain humming with energy as Palpatine murmured promises of salvation for the one he loved more than his own life, and all he had to do was reach out and take it.  
His voice broke with emotion while he recalled the unendurable moments sitting in the Jedi Council Chamber, knowing that four Masters were on their way to arrest and quite possibly kill his only hope for saving his wife from death. He could still see it in his mind: the brilliant red-gold gleam of the setting sun as it set the sprawling metropolis of Galactic City ablaze, the voice inside his skull whispering that all would be lost if he chose not to act…and all he could see was the distant silhouette of Five Hundred Republica, and the gentle curve of Padmé's veranda on the far side.  
His world went dark after that.

He watched Yoda's eyes slide shut in agony and Obi-Wan's jaw clench as he told of Mace Windu's final battle – the dark-skinned Jedi's body flying through a broken window while his severed arm lay twitching at Anakin's feet. His tone reflected a bleak desperation while he relayed the details of his pact with Darth Sidious, agreeing to become his apprentice if he would teach him how to cheat death and spare his beloved angel. He skimmed over the nightmare that followed within the Jedi Temple, commenting only that the Sith Lord had told him that such an act would make him strong enough with the dark side to save Padmé. Then he recounted the Separatist leaders' demise by his hands on Mustafar and his return to Coruscant.  
Yoda held up a finger when Anakin mentioned Obi-Wan's name, and the young man halted in mid-sentence. "The rest of the story have I received, from Master Kenobi." He studied Anakin speculatively, the tips of his long, pointed ears wiggling slightly. Abruptly, he turned sideways to fix Obi-Wan with a significant look, to which the younger Master replied with a brief nod. Yoda made a small noise in the back of his throat and, his eyes still on Obi-Wan's face, remarked mildly, "See Padmé, I would like."  
Anakin paled, ice-blue eyes widening with shock, and Obi-Wan reached for a small device sitting upon the table's smooth, gleaming surface, depressing a button with his thumb. The device emitted a quiet beep, and a blinking yellow light flashed every few seconds. Struggling to ignore his old friend's dismay at involving his wife in their proceedings, Obi-Wan mentioned to Yoda, "She will arrive momentarily, Master." Unable to resist the impulse any longer, Obi-Wan looked at Anakin, and found that the young man was looking back, a dozen emotions flitting across his white face.

Light suddenly flooded the dim room, and Anakin's head snapped sideways a split second before Padmé floated into the room in a hoverchair – but a heartbeat later Obi-Wan dismissed it as his imagination, for there was no way that Anakin had known she was entering without the Force to aid him.  
Yoda's unfathomable gaze followed the Senator's every move, and Obi-Wan's attention drifted from one to the other with some degree of uncertainty, but Padmé only had eyes for Anakin. He staggered to his feet as she slowed to a stop, her soft brown eyes wordlessly consoling him while she pushed herself upright and enfolded his broad shoulders in her slender arms. Anakin reacted instinctively to her familiar embrace. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he gently pressed his body against hers, burying his face in her hair.  
The moment seemed so tender and private that Obi-Wan wanted to look away, but he was drawn by the intensity sparking between the young couple in the Force. What he had sensed in the birthing room was as clear as it had been that day, and that was the faint echoes of Anakin's essence filtering through Padmé. Except now, with the passage of time, the echoes had grown more pronounced, and the overall effect was intriguing. The only means of describing it was that Anakin was the wind – invisible and yet unmistakably real – and Padmé was a tree, with leaves stirring softly and giving evidence to the presence of the wind. He wondered then how Yoda perceived this odd variation in the Force, and glanced sideways at the ancient Jedi.

Yoda was watching Anakin and Padmé with narrowed eyes – not with anger or reproach, but with a mixture of fascination and contemplation. He leaned forward, steeping his clawed fingers under his round chin as Anakin drew back slightly to look into his wife's face. "The twins?" he murmured, just above a whisper.  
"Sleeping. MD-02 and 05 are with them." Padmé's warm, quiet words automatically soothed Anakin, and his tense stance visibly relaxed. Yet his eyes refused to leave her face, even as she turned in his arms to greet Obi-Wan and Yoda with a graceful incline of her dark head.  
The wisest being of the once-great Jedi Order smiled at her with genuine affection, and gestured to the numerous chairs situated around the conference room. "Sit down, you should, Senator."  
Padmé glanced at her husband, and in that swift look there passed a moment of wordless communication that transcended the unending scope of the Force. As if they had planned each move, Anakin helped his wife settle into the hoverchair and stepped aside as she maneuvered to a spot directly across from Yoda, forming a loose semicircle. While she was in motion, Anakin snagged the chair beside Obi-Wan and pushed it into place next to Padmé and across from his old Master. Once he was seated, they simultaneously reached for each other – Anakin placing his large hand on Padmé's lap as she threaded her slim fingers through his and laid her other palm atop his knuckles. Her gaze had not shifted at all from Yoda's thoughtful expression. The politician had reawakened inside of Padmé, and she fully intended to use every bit of her diplomatic training to find a solution that would free Anakin from his backbreaking remorse. She put aside the feelings of a wife and mother – though the skin on the back of Anakin's hand felt chilled under her fingertips – and quieted her mind, focusing on the pair of Jedi Masters watching her with those maddeningly blank faces.

So it was to her intense surprise that Master Yoda's wise emerald eyes, surrounded by eight hundred years' worth of wrinkles, brightened as a tiny smile lifted the corners of his mouth and said, "Offer my congratulations I do, on the birth of your younglings. A welcome gift they are, in times such as these."  
It caught her off guard. Obi-Wan saw the porcelain façade of Senator Amidala slip from Padmé's lovely face as she absorbed Yoda's words. Her dark eyes lost their icy flatness, and a faint blush rose on the apples of her cheeks. "Th-thank you," she stammered, visibly flustered – a highly unlikely response for someone accustomed to public speaking.  
"Yes, yes…a welcome gift, indeed." Yoda's eyes grew strangely unfocused and he spoke quietly to himself, "An unusual occurrence, this is. For you both, a rescue it has become…in many, many ways."  
Three pairs of eyes studied the hunched figure as he trailed off, seemingly lost in thought. Blue-grey orbs filled momentarily with bewilderment before turning pensively inward. Wide chestnut eyes blinked twice in utter bemusement. And bright cerulean irises sparked with immediate comprehension while faint traces of uncertainty lingered behind the ebony pupils.  
Suddenly, the ancient Jedi's stare sharpened, piercing the now-steady blue gaze set in Anakin's face. He asked, "What happened, do you think, young Skywalker?"

Anakin needed no clarification as to what Yoda referred, and he sensed a muted flush of optimism warm his cold flesh when the Jedi Master said his name. Throwing a brief, worried glance at the small woman beside him, Anakin replied in a low, even tone, "I don't know if I can give you any answers, Master. All I can tell you is what I remember – and it isn't much." He stared at his lap as he continued. "My daughter had just been born, and Padmé asked me to name her." His lips twitched into a tiny smile, which quickly faded. "Then, she couldn't breathe, and I felt… I felt like all the oxygen had left the room. Administrator Tuun came up to me, and told me that Padmé had lost a lot of blood. They didn't have the supply in storage to replenish her system. But if she didn't receive a transfusion soon…she would die." His voice broke on the last word, and Padmé squeezed his hand tenderly, watching his expression as she relived those harrowing moments through his eyes – moments that she did not remember at all.  
"I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let my children grow up without their mother. I tried to touch the Force, and the strain almost killed me. But then, all of a sudden, it was like I knew what to do. I had to be willing to sacrifice _myself_ in order to spare her. And not just my life – my beliefs, my ambitions – all that I was…just like she has done for me." He glanced sideways for the barest second and offered Padmé a soft grin. "So I went inside the void, where the Force used to be, and I asked – for forgiveness."  
He paused when he heard Obi-Wan's slight intake of breath, and drew strength from the two slender hands wrapped around his own before resuming. "I asked the Force to save her…to take me instead of her…and there was an explosion. White light was everywhere, and flames were all around me. And I saw her. I wrapped myself around her, trying to protect her from the fire…then I let it take me."  
Anakin was quiet for some time, and Padmé thought that he had reached the end of his story – when his deep, husky voice opened up the tense silence. "I woke up in the birthing room, next to Padmé, and she was fine. The Administrator thought it was a miracle, but I knew. I knew that whatever had happened within that white light had saved her…and allowed me to sense her again."

Only Yoda appeared unsurprised over this statement. Padmé gripped Anakin's hand tightly, hovering on the edge of shock while Obi-Wan's incredulous voice loudly interrupted the stillness. "The Force has returned to you? How is that possible?"  
"No, it's not the Force," Anakin shook his head, starlight glinting a pale gold on his tousled hair. "It's…deeper than that, more – _certain_ than anything I've sensed from her in the past. I feel _everything_ that she feels, almost like it's my own, and we…communicate on a level that seems like instinct. It's like nothing I've ever felt before." As he finished, he turned to look at his wife, a whisper of apology wafting across his features – yet his eyes glowed with conviction, trusting in everything he had just said.  
Padmé's full lips were parted slightly, staring at him in awe. A flash of intuition, like lightning across a storm-darkened sky, illuminated the rational side of her brain. When Obi-Wan had come to visit her earlier – she had experienced such a fierce, white-hot rush of fury – a response that was a direct opposite of her nature, and she had thought to herself that it was exactly how Anakin would have reacted had he been in her place. If Anakin was right, then how could she trust her emotions? How could she know if what she was feeling came from her own heart – or Anakin's? She wondered then how much of what she felt _now_ emanated from him.  
Oddly enough, she was not distressed by the idea of sharing emotions with the man she loved, or struggling with the notion that she was no longer alone within her own mind. In fact, she was comforted by the possibility. It just seemed so implausible – even in a world of Jedi and Chosen Ones and unexplained powers – that this…_bond_ was even feasible.  
He must have felt the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her being, for he reached over with his free hand and brushed his knuckles along her cheek. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you before. I wasn't sure if you would believe me." He let out a short chuckle. "I'm not even sure if _I_ believe me."  
Padmé laughed as well, and even though a small part of her agreed with him that what he was suggesting was completely ridiculous and improbable…she also knew that he was right. It was not something that she could hope to put into words, and yet she trusted it, in the same way that she trusted gravity or that the sun would rise each morning. She just _knew_.

Obi-Wan was rapidly sinking in an ocean of perplexity. The entire concept was absurd – he had never even heard of such a thing in all his years of study as a Jedi. He had to admit that Anakin's explanation had some bearing in what he had sensed from the observation window that day, but he could not wrap his mind around the assumption. The Force was an energy field created by all life – it could not grant forgiveness, it did not have a will – at least not like the will of a sentient being. Or did it?  
"_The Force is a mystery that no Jedi can hope to solve in his lifetime, Obi-Wan. How can you distinguish between the will of Force and your own?"  
_Obi-Wan's lips wordlessly mouthed along with the memory of his Master's voice: _"By examining the motivations of your heart."  
_Qui-Gon had retained a more unorthodox view of the Force, and he had passed many of his personal theories to his Padawan – which Obi-Wan, in turn, had passed on to Anakin. If he were still alive, Obi-Wan had no doubt that his old Master would concur with Anakin's statement; after all, he had immediately accepted the validity of a centuries-old prophecy mere hours after meeting a nine year-old slave boy on Tatooine. Yet if anyone could confirm or deny Anakin's claim with the support of nearly eight hundred years of knowledge…it would be Yoda.  
Obi-Wan turned aside at once, murmuring, "Master, is that type of connection even _possible_?"  
The wizened Master did not acknowledge Obi-Wan's question, though his pointed ears swiveled just noticeably in the younger Jedi's direction. Yoda's deep green eyes had narrowed to slits, and he sat completely motionless. The impression Obi-Wan sensed from him within the Force was like that of a bottomless pool filled with iridescent water, its surface glass-smooth as various colors undulated in its depths. Obi-Wan's eyes flicked up to the other two occupants of the conference room – but they were still so immersed in one another that they seemed to have forgotten the two Jedi Masters completely.

"Hmm…" Yoda's distinctive, croaky voice fell upon his attuned ears, and Obi-Wan spun to face him in his seat, eyes alight with expectation. "Difficult to comprehend, this bond is. But exists, it does. Similar it is, to the bond formed between Master and Padawan. And Jedi from ages past – experienced a related connection, they did, with love as the foundation. Yet form so quickly and be so strong…remarkable, such a bond is." He lifted one clawed finger from the knob atop his gimer stick to point at the young couple. "Unusual, for the bond to exist at all, when cut off from the Force, they are." Pressing that finger to his mouth, Yoda thought for a full minute, studying Anakin's glittering blue eyes as he spoke softly to his wife and Padmé's glowing, affectionate smile. "A puzzle, this is," he said so quietly that Obi-Wan scarcely caught the phrase. Then, abruptly, the eldest Jedi straightened and gazed sidelong at his companion. "Meditate on this, I will."  
Obi-Wan understood that the subject was now closed, and fought to quench the burning blaze of curiosity in his heart. He had the vague inclination that Yoda had already placed some of the pieces of the puzzle together in his head, but he was not yet ready to share his findings.  
Three things happened simultaneously at that point.  
Yoda's head whipped towards the doorway, eyes wide with an indefinable emotion as he looked beyond Obi-Wan's shoulder. Obi-Wan felt a presence brush against the farthest corner of his perception – like sensing the sudden warmth of the rising sun on his back as it broke over of the horizon. And the instantly recognizable sounds of a fretting newborn drew everyone's attention to the silver med droid floating over the threshold of the conference room.

"Forgive the intrusion, Master Jedi," MD-02 announced in its soft, feminine voice, "but the Senator requested that her children be brought to her when they awaken."  
Obi-Wan gave MD-02 a conceding nod when Yoda did not respond. The ancient Jedi's seamed face was alight with a brilliant, almost fierce kind of joy, gazing at the squirming bundle in the med droid's arms with unblinking eyes. His fixation caused a sudden flare of protectiveness to ignite inside Padmé's soul, and she clambered to her feet, hands sliding out of Anakin's reluctant grasp as she approached MD-02.  
"Thank you, MD-02. I'll take him," Padmé said quietly. Obi-Wan craned his neck as the infant was passed to his mother, and he glimpsed a tiny head sprinkled with fine blond hairs before Padmé tucked the blanket securely around her son. The little one's cries were faint, but slowly increasing in volume and urgency as Padmé rocked from side to side, trying to soothe him. "Shh…it's all right…it's all right," she chanted over and over in a gentle, sweet tone, but to no avail. Luke's small face nuzzled towards her chest and she sighed, finally understanding the source of his discomfort. Looking up from his precious form, Padmé's gaze flitted briefly over the two Jedi Masters and then rested on her husband's anxious face. "I'm afraid that I must request a recess from these proceedings while I attend to my son," she said formally.  
She pivoted with one leg, striding in the direction of the doorway – and halted in mid-step when Yoda called out, "Wait, Milady. Not hungry, the boy is."

Padmé peered at the old Jedi over her shoulder, her dark curls partially obscuring her expression – but there was no mistaking the raised brow and the skeptical gleam in her eyes. Yoda was completely unaffected by her reaction; his face reflected perfect sincerity as he instructed, "Bring him to his father, you should."  
With the doubtful look in her brown gaze growing more pronounced, Padmé nevertheless turned back towards the center of the room and headed to her hoverchair, Luke still whimpering in her embrace.  
She paused in front of her husband, seeing the same confusion she felt in his blue eyes, and looked once more at Yoda, brows arched questioningly. He nodded in encouragement, gesturing for her to sit.  
Shrugging minutely to herself, Padmé settled into the hoverchair, shifting her tiny son into the crook of her elbow. Anakin immediately leaned closer…  
There was silence.  
Blue met blue, and Anakin's entire countenance lit up like a supernova as he peered down at his son. Luke stared back with cloudy yet inquisitive eyes, nearly motionless in the warm circle of his mother's arms. Padmé looked from one to the other, her jaw dropping in shock as Luke's entire focus centered on Anakin, cooing happily when his father slid a finger into his small fist.

Obi-Wan was in a similar state. Watching the young family in astonishment, he studied Anakin's son within the Force. The boy's untamed potential was as vast as it had been on the day that he was born, and he radiated absolute contentment, basking in the nearness of his parents. His eyes narrowed. There was something else, something he could not identify as he observed the little one's brilliant essence.  
Faint tendrils of energy wafted out from the edges of the boy's perception, and they seemed to latch onto the dim yet steady glow emanating from Padmé, bonding with her essence like beads of water gathering on a windowpane. But that was not the most disturbing vision Obi-Wan witnessed.  
He saw translucent wisps of Force energy drift towards Anakin, and instead of being repelled because of his old friend's separation from the Force as he thought – the energy permeated that empty place in his perception, concentrating into a single focal point, a tiny globe of light…and then it faded.  
Obi-Wan suppressed a shudder. What he had just seen – he could only compare it to the enigma of a black hole, and how it absorbs all light around it without giving any off itself. The nature of a black hole was not malicious, and neither was what was happening between Anakin and his son, as near as he could tell.  
But the mystery, the dark shadows of the unknown that surrounded them…made Obi-Wan's skin prickle and pinched the tiny hairs on the back of his neck. He watched Anakin's expression bloom into a wide, lopsided grin, and heard the boy's answering chime of laughter, and wondered once again at the significance of his vision.

Padmé felt her heart sprout wings and soar as she quietly viewed the familial interaction between father and son. Anakin had been positively transformed by the arrival of the twins – and every bright smile that sparkled upon his handsome face was like a rare jewel to her, and she treasured each one deep inside her heart. This was the family that she had only dared to dream of, and she would fight for it with every ounce of strength within her being.  
Her gaze rose slowly to meet the unwavering emerald-green eyes. Yoda's awareness had not strayed from their son since he entered the room, and it made her uneasy. She realized that both Luke and Leia had the same incredible potential in the Force as their father, yet it was not something that she would have chosen for them. She had made up her mind on this matter in the same hour that she knew she was pregnant: her children would not become Jedi. She would never push them into that life while they were too young to understand all that they must give up. She had witnessed firsthand the strain that had placed on her Ani – and she refused to do that to her children.  
She had given her husband to the galaxy. She would not give up her little stars, too.  
The skin around her eyes tightened, and her stare hardened with determination as it bored into Yoda's. In that wordless, eternal moment, she used the glacial, unyielding eyes of Senator Amidala to communicate to the ancient Master that the Jedi Order may have taken her Anakin – first to the war, and perhaps now to his punishment – but it would _not_ take her children.

Anakin sensed a flame, white-hot and fueled by tenacity, sputter inside the part of his soul that belonged to Padmé, and the smile melted from his lips. Eyes flickering to his wife, he noticed the icy cast of her beautiful features and the tensed muscles in her slender throat as she looked unblinking at Master Yoda.  
Then Yoda did something that neither of them expected.  
His wizened expression softened infinitesimally, and he lowered his eyes, bowing his head in an unmistakable sign of concession and respect.  
Padmé leaned backwards, blinking in surprise as warmth returned to her large, dark eyes. Anakin waited until the last vestiges of hardness thawed from her body, and then looked down at their son, deciding to pretend that he had not seen what had transpired.  
A piercing wail stabbed into the atmosphere of the conference room.  
Obi-Wan jerked, visibly startled as Padmé's eyes slid shut in embarrassment, and Luke froze, head slightly tilted as if listening to some unknown noise while Anakin's head snapped up with a huge smirk. Only Yoda remained undisturbed by this latest interruption, though his eyes darted sideways to glimpse the newcomer.  
Arms and legs flailed wildly against the med droid's metallic shell as it entered the room, and Obi-Wan caught sight of a round red face topped by a thick cap of dark hair, a tiny mouth opened wide and emitting shrieks that seemed far too loud for one infant. Anakin rose to his feet, and with two long strides was instantly in front of MD-02, gathering his distraught daughter in his arms. The noise dimmed somewhat, but Leia continued to thrash against her father's broad chest even as he sat down beside Padmé and Luke. Anakin chuckled quietly, for in her tantrum, Leia failed to realize that she was with her family. "Are you done yet?" he teased affectionately.  
Padmé moved in her seat, maneuvering a wide-eyed Luke to a closer proximity with his twin and leaned over Leia's squalling face, murmuring in a soft voice barely audible above the wailing, "Hey, you."  
Leia's brown eyes snapped open, angry tears glistening on her lashes, and her hazy eyesight appeared to take in the dark, blurred shapes of her parents and brother. Anakin felt her tiny body relax in his embrace and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Shifting their youngest child to a firm one-handed grip, he used gentle fingertips to brush the lingering traces of saltwater from her soft cheeks. "There now…all better."  
He raised humor-filled eyes to Padmé, and the two of them shared in a bout of silent laughter over the antics of their overly dramatic daughter.  
So the Skywalker family was oblivious of the intense scrutiny its two newest members were attaining from a pair of multifaceted, exceptionally wise green eyes.

Yoda's intent, yet strangely calm gaze floated at random from one infant to the other, and paused fleetingly upon Anakin, and then Padmé. The jade-colored skin on his brow crinkled as he studied the contact – both seen and unseen to the naked eye – among this unique family. _A puzzle this is, indeed, _he remarked inwardly. Centuries of Jedi lore were locked inside his mind, and he sifted through each as one might glance through reference material in a library, searching for some mention, any hint of what he saw unfolding in front of him. A few of the pieces had clicked into place, but many were still missing, or hidden from his vision. He could not shake the feeling of…_danger_, a hazard lurking just out of sight – and it had nothing to do with Sidious, his Empire, or the Jedi. The sensation stemmed from the mysterious bond linking Anakin to Padmé. Yoda had no foreseeable reason to suspect the connection of posing a threat to either person – and yet the feeling remained, tugging on the fringe of his consciousness, continually calling attention to itself though he tried to cast it aside. He surmised then that if or when he discovered the source of the danger, the puzzle would almost certainly become clearer to him.  
Some of his deduction must have shown on his face, for he felt Obi-Wan's eyes on him, as well as the scorching flame of curiosity and the need for knowledge that the younger Master had managed to squelch into glowing embers at the back of his psyche. Yoda experienced a measure of pride in Obi-Wan's self-control; truly, he had come a long way from the headstrong, impatient young Padawan that Qui-Gon had taken under his wing decades ago. Despite his maturity, however, the old Jedi saw the question stinging Obi-Wan's tongue – but now was not the time for such answers. Just as Obi-Wan opened his mouth, Yoda touched his mind with a tendril of perception, planting the sensation of laying his hand on the young Jedi's shoulder – a subtle gesture to remain silent.  
Obi-Wan closed his mouth, the question dying on his lips as the slight pressure retreated from his perception. Yoda looked over at him for a moment, a twinkle of amusement lighting his glance, and motioned with his head towards Anakin. Obi-Wan understood what the elder Master meant for him to address and shifted forward in his chair, resting a forearm on his knee. Clearing his throat discreetly, he inquired, "So, Anakin, what are your plans concerning your family for the immediate future?"

Anakin's thoughts stumbled out of his pleasant reverie with his loved ones and took a few minutes to restart, processing just exactly what Obi-Wan was asking him. If they were asking for his input, did that mean they did not intend to send him into exile? He did not permit himself to hope – not yet – it was a far too fragile emotion to indulge in so recklessly. He feigned nonchalance with a one-shouldered shrug, glad for once that he had stayed awake last night plotting his next course of action in keeping his family safe, and replied, "I know that we can only stay safely here for maybe two days at most. Then I plan to head to a nearby spaceport, obtain a new ship, and take my family to a remote system outside of the Empire."  
Obi-Wan inclined his head in an all-too-familiar motion of agreement. "A well-rounded plan."  
The corner of Anakin's mouth lifted into its customary smirk. "I feel a 'but' coming on."  
A resigned smile curved his former mentor's lips, and Anakin felt a tiny glimmer of brotherhood and all that he had once shared with this man buoy his spirit. "But…it's not going to be easy."  
"Since when has _anything_ we do been easy, Master?" The title slipped out on its own – his mouth had formed the word so easily and naturally as he spoke the friendly tease. Obi-Wan's smile died and sorrow darkened his eyes to lead. Anakin looked aside, biting his lower lip, and he didn't quite meet the Jedi Master's gaze as he mouthed silently: _I'm sorry.  
_Obi-Wan continued as if nothing had happened, although he was keenly aware of Padmé's compassionate stare, "True, but I believe that our latest problem may stretch the limit of even _your_ talents." He reached behind him and grasped a small datapad. Typing in a sequence of keys, Obi-Wan connected to a live HoloNet feed and the screen lit up, a tinny voice issuing from the datapad. He handed it to Anakin, remarking blandly, "Our situation has unfortunately become much more complicated."

Anakin studied Obi-Wan suspiciously for a second, and then sat back in his seat, Padmé's dark head touching his as they leaned over the tiny viewscreen. Leia's pudgy fingers made a grab for the datapad, which Anakin neatly avoided, while Luke contented himself with tugging on his mother's curls and putting the strands in his mouth as an attractive female human newscaster appeared onscreen.  
"We have received breaking news on the Jedi riots on Coruscant: Emperor Palpatine had just issued an arrest warrant for Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, who is suspected in the kidnapping of Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo."  
Padmé's gasp of horror suffused Anakin with dread, and both twins let out startled cries upon sensing their mother's fear. Her widened eyes darted to Obi-Wan, who only nodded sadly in response to the appalled expression on her face. He glanced at Anakin. The young man's features looked as if they had been carved from stone – the cords of muscle in his jaw line and neck stood out in sharp relief, and with an audible _crack_, the plasteel casing on the datapad broke and thin fissures spider-webbed from underneath his right thumb.  
Padmé swiftly retrieved it from her husband's vise grip and forced herself to focus on the newscaster's words. The screen now showed footage of Obi-Wan and Anakin landing at the Senatorial offices after "rescuing" Palpatine from General Grievous.  
"…known as the Negotiator, Master Kenobi and The Hero With No Fear had worked together on multiple missions during the war, most recently averting the disastrous attempt by the Separatists to capture the Emperor. Anyone with information regarding Obi-Wan Kenobi must contact Imperial law enforcement immediately."  
The picture cut to images of Padmé, in full Senatorial regalia, at various times during her political career. "In a statement issued by the Emperor, he pleads for Master Kenobi's surrender of Senator Amidala, calling her 'a shining light of reason and decency in the Senate' and 'the voice of morality – a true democrat and a noble representative of the people of Naboo and the Empire as a whole.' It is not known why Obi-Wan Kenobi singled out Senator Amidala as a target, but the Emperor assured our correspondents at a press conference this morning…"

And the distorted, grisly face filled the screen, shadowed by a thick cowl of purple velour.  
Padmé involuntarily pressed her firstborn tightly against her body, as if to protect him from the image, and Anakin wrapped an arm around her shoulders. His cerulean eyes were ablaze under a lowered brow. "Senator Amidala was a well-recognized face to the Jedi – that was why she was taken. She is not a collaborator with the uprising and will not be accused of any misconduct." The yellow eyes seemed to burn through her skin and she shivered. Anakin's large hand rubbed soothingly along her upper arm. "It is my sincerest wish that she is returned to Coruscant and continues to serve her people and the Empire as a beacon of hope for a peaceful future."  
Padmé could not listen anymore. Her fingers trembled as she deactivated the datapad and tossed the small device lightly onto the floor beside her hoverchair. Noiseless anxiety permeated the oblong area, and the twins began fidgeting in their blankets, sensing the tension in the air but unable to comprehend it with their undeveloped minds. Padmé stared into space bleakly, lowering her head to rest on her husband's shoulder, collecting strength from his solid, familiar warmth. Anakin continued to trace tiny circles along Padmé's arm from her elbow to the hollow beneath her ear, and rested his chin on the crown of her head. He was gazing in the direction of the far wall, its transparisteel view showcasing the asteroid field backlit by the yellow-orange glare of Polis Massa's sun.  
Obi-Wan examined the young man's profile, choosing his next words carefully. Despite the gentle touch Anakin was using to comfort his wife and the natural ease with which he cradled their daughter to his chest – the planes of his face were chiseled at the edges, razor-sharp with anger, and his blue eyes mirrored the fiery gleam of the sun in their depths. Obi-Wan deliberated for a handful of seconds, and then said in a dull monotone, "There are clone troopers combing the galaxy for us as we speak. Their search will be completely random, but they will come upon us sooner or later – the Emperor is not one to forfeit."

"You see what he's doing," Padmé looked at the Jedi Master, dark eyes aflame, her voice slicing the air like a sharpened blade. "He's making me into a symbol – the most recognizable face in the galaxy, just as he had done with Anakin. Ordinary citizens throughout known space will be able to identify me. He will have the most comprehensive search party in the universe; he knows that I would not risk my child's safety on an uninhabited planet."  
Obi-Wan caught the singular pronoun in her logical tirade, and one sand-colored eyebrow arched furtively. "Palpatine does not know that there are two of them," he remarked thoughtfully, almost to himself, and his eyes drifted to Anakin's for confirmation. His former apprentice acceded with the barest nod, his attention still distracted by some far-off sight.  
"Obsessed with finding you, Darth Sidious is," Yoda stated grimly, fixing Padmé with his serious gaze. "In locating you – seizes control of Anakin's child, he does."  
"His only alternative to secure an apprentice that would one day become as strong as me."  
Anakin spoke for the first time after hearing the HoloNet report. The anger had drained out of him, and all that was left was desolation. He felt…empty – hollowed out like a dry husk. He pressed his face into Padmé's hair and inhaled the light fragrance while splinters of ice filled his stomach. His "well-rounded plan" had been rendered useless; Sidious was always one step ahead of him – lining up his pieces on the board to trap Anakin before he could even contemplate a single move. Even if he carried out his strategy of switching vessels and heading for a system beyond the Empire's borders, the possibility that Padmé would be spotted was too severe for him to consider. Then he would spend the rest of his children's lives moving them from one planet to another…fugitives from a malevolent creature who would not rest until they were found. He wanted so much more for Luke and Leia.  
And he had made a promise to his angel: _"You, and I, and the twins – are going to be a family. And whatever I have to do to atone for my crimes…I will do it, so that we will all be together. I promise."_

Anakin stole a covert glance at Obi-Wan and Yoda from the corner of his eye. For all intents and purposes, he had the Jedi's cooperation – for now – and only at the expense of his children's protection. In that, their goals were compatible. He laid a soft kiss on the top of Padmé's head, pondering his next course of action. He was terrified of submitting once more to the authority and judgment of the two Masters; he wanted to remain in the safe, comforting bubble of limbo – blissfully ignorant of consequences and where his sole motivation was displaying the love that consumed him for the three beautiful souls nestled in his arms.  
He started to open his mouth, the words on his tongue preparing to shatter the dream and bring reality crashing down upon him – when Padmé suddenly grew too still in his embrace. Her slender frame was completely motionless as a statue, save for the inaudible breathing that slowly lifted her breast.  
Then something changed inside of her frozen thoughts.  
Anakin sensed a swirling vortex gather within their bond, and like the swiftly rising waters of a flood, the tide of her thoughts pressed against his mind. He pulled away slightly, bending his face down to hers to see her expression. Padmé's eyes were unfocused, watching some anonymous event take place in her mind's eye, and an idea blossomed. He knew when her concentration returned to him, for although she kept her features smooth and impassive, the velvety brown irises of her eyes smoldered.  
"What is it?" he whispered. The ghost of a sly grin crept across her rose-hued lips, and instead of answering, she straightened her posture and turned towards Yoda and Obi-Wan.

"We find ourselves in a grave situation. The Emperor has clones scouring the galaxy for Obi-Wan, every sentient being in the Empire will know my face before the day is done and feel that it is their patriotic duty to bring me home, and Palpatine intends to steal my child and turn him into a Sith. Is that correct?"  
Obi-Wan nodded in confusion, but Yoda's brow quirked shrewdly. "My question is this: suppose Senator Amidala were to return to the capital, released by the elusive Master Kenobi to continue her work in the Senate. Would the search lessen?"  
_"No."  
_Padmé looked at Anakin with a wide, innocent stare as he hissed through clenched teeth, "If you _think_ that I am going to let you go back to that place alone –"  
"No, Ani…" She cupped his tense jaw in her palm, softly clarifying, "You misunderstood me. _I_ have no intention of returning to Coruscant." Anakin's head tilted to the side, his forehead wrinkling as he struggled to interpret the inflection behind her placating reply. Keeping her hand upon her husband's cheek, Padmé peered over her shoulder at the Jedi…and in that instant Obi-Wan saw the young, blazing face of a child Queen, determined to single-handedly liberate her planet from invasion.  
"I have an idea."


	19. The Best Laid Schemes

**Chapter Fourteen  
**_**The Best Laid Schemes**_

The wide expanse of sky that blanketed the unique architecture of the city of Theed darkened to a smoky violet as twilight descended, bringing the first few hesitant stars that flickered like tiny candle flames as the topaz gleam of the sun sank into the ebony horizon. The cobblestone streets of Naboo's capital were quiet at this time of night – many families were gathering in their homes, seated around their dinner tables and preparing to eat while discussing the day's activities.  
A light sprung forth in a small room inside one such dwelling, and the muted whirr of computer circuitry filled the stillness, drowning out the evening songs of insects. Soft blue light bathed the careworn yet beautiful face of a woman seated before a communications terminal. The thin lines around her dark eyes and mouth are a subtle tribute to her age, but there is not one strand of silver within her thick brown hair, twisted elegantly atop her head. Brow furrowed with worry, she called up the appropriate screen to reach her goal, keying in a passcode when asked. There was a brief second of silence, and then a three-dimensional image appeared, projected into the air between the terminal and her face. It was the head and shoulders of a younger woman, long ringlets pooling around her slim neck and cascading down her back, blinking large, serious eyes even as an affectionate smile curved her full lips.

Jobal Naberrie found herself reluctantly smiling back at the hologram of her youngest child, and the resemblance between the two women was uncanny in that particular moment. Padmé began to speak, and Jobal watched her facial expressions, determined to yet again unearth some clue, or a hidden message, within her daughter's words.  
_"Mom – it was so good to hear from you and Papa. I feel like I haven't seen either of you in a lifetime. I miss you both so much. How are Sola and Darred? Is Ryoo planning to enter the Relief Program this year? And how does Pooja like her Primary classes? I know you want me to visit soon, and I wish that I could come right this minute – but…there are things that need my attention here."  
_The holographic representation of Padmé sighed deeply, looking aside for a moment, and Jobal leaned forward, studying the brief wash of melancholy sadness that covered her daughter's face.  
"_It seems as if this war will never end. I hate being such a pessimist – but I sometimes wish that I had taken your advice three years ago and left my position in the Senate. But then again…"  
_It was at this point in the recorded message that something occurred to puzzle Jobal. Padmé, apparently lost in thought, started fiddling with a delicate chain around her neck, holding a small object attached to the necklace in her palm.  
"_The Republic is changing, Mom – and I do not believe that it will be a good change. In my time as Queen, I always thought of Chancellor Palpatine as a good man – a true democrat and empathizing countryman of Naboo. Now, though…I hardly recognize him. I must do what I can to guarantee the preservation of social equality, and fight this war on familiar battleground."  
_The ghost of a smile flitted across her lips, and quickly died as Padmé murmured with low urgency, her eyes gleaming with an indefinable emotion, _"I have some things to tell you, Mom – to tell all of you. It's just too risky over comm channels; I have to speak to you in person. I will try to come home in the next few weeks. I won't be able to contact you beforehand – I may show up at your door in the middle of the night. Please don't worry for me, Mom, I'll explain everything when I arrive, I promise. I love you."_

The hologram faded in a dim burst of static, the outline of Padmé's earnest, and almost desperate expression still glowing before Jobal's stare. She leaned back in her chair, battling the intense swell of anxiety that had threatened to overwhelm her since she received the message two weeks ago. She had not heard a word from her daughter in all this time; not after the invasion of the Separatist fleet and the Chancellor's botched abduction, not after the raid on the Jedi Temple, and not after Palpatine's declaration of instating the Empire before the Senate. Jobal felt a burning stab of anger. As Naboo's Senator, Padmé surely had many obligations to fulfill, but in light of everything that had happened, she could have found a spare minute to let her family know that she was safe.  
But the choking rush of fear swiftly silenced the anger. Every time that Padmé did not make contact with her family, it was due to the fact that her life was in danger. Her daughter had expressed her distrust of Palpatine, and she had stated fervently that she had something to tell them – something that she deemed greatly important. Every politician made enemies, within and without their circles of influence, and Padmé was no different. And it was common knowledge of Padmé's support of the Jedi Order as a whole; she felt indebted to them for their aid during the blockade crisis thirteen years ago, and Jedi had been assigned to protect her from assassins shortly before this horrible war engulfed the galaxy. From an analytical perspective, the notion that Padmé was cloistered from the rest of the galaxy due to her diplomatic connections in light of the current political climate was an acceptable theory.  
It did not explain what Jobal had witnessed as a mother.

Padmé had spoken of changes in the Republic and Chancellor Palpatine with a new edge. It was less the critical assertion of a Senator and more the concerned musing of a woman with a higher calling on her life than her career – with something else to protect than just the democratic proceedings of government.  
It was personal.  
And the nervous habit she had developed of playing with her necklace – a necklace that Jobal had never seen before. Padmé had so many gowns and decorative attire for Senatorial affairs, as well as the jewels and baubles to accommodate them. She was not a materialistic person, so she rarely became attached to any one possession; she claimed that it kept her viewpoint focused on the people and not the opulence.  
A habit like that could only have come about by continual wear, which meant that the necklace had an intimate link to her daughter. And that assumption brought Padmé's message into a whole new light.  
Jobal had her suspicions – suspicions that she dare not voice to anyone, even her husband.  
Padmé was self-sacrificing and noble by nature, but she also had a great capacity for love…as well as the deep desire for her own family – a desire that she thought she had kept hidden from her mother.  
She insisted time and again that her work in the Senate prevented her from forming a lasting relationship, and Jobal agreed that it was true, to a certain degree. Indeed, Jobal could recall only one instance when she saw Padmé open up to a man in her presence.

The Jedi with flashing blue eyes. The one who had accompanied her to Naboo as a bodyguard over three years ago. Anakin, she had introduced him as.  
Jobal had since deduced that the Jedi Padawan assigned to protect her daughter was indeed Anakin Skywalker, The Hero With No Fear, and the most recognized Jedi in the known universe thanks to his various exploits during the war. He was a visually striking young man – tall, broad-shouldered and charismatic even in silence, he reassured the populace with his mere presence – and was frequently seen in the company of Chancellor Palpatine. Remembering Padmé's expressed fears about the Chancellor, it was perfectly logical to believe that she was concerned about his relationship with Anakin, whom she had confessed to her sister Sola was a dear friend. Jobal often wished that she was able to accept that.  
But the memory of that young Jedi in her home was seared upon her mind. She recalled the energy that seemed to emanate from his wiry, muscular frame. The brilliant grin that lit up a room. The tenseness in his wide shoulders as he sat beside Padmé at their table. And the way his piercing blue gaze appeared drawn to her daughter like a magnet – never straying for more than a few seconds.  
Sola had voiced her mother's opinion as well as her own: _"It's obvious he has feelings for you."  
_As much as Padmé feigned indifference and brushed aside Sola's teasing remarks, Jobal had clearly seen the mutual attraction sparking between the two. But Jedi were not permitted to marry, and Padmé was a highly respected public figure. Even if the feelings existed, and Anakin disregarded the Order's mandate – which she considered an impossibility since Jedi were known for their rigid self-discipline – Padmé was a smart, practical woman. A smart, practical woman who had never truly been in love.

Jobal had scarcely allowed herself to think through her assumptions, and she glanced over a shoulder towards the closed door apprehensively, convinced that at any moment her husband Ruwee would barge in and demand an explanation. She took a deep breath and let the thought resurface.  
Love was unpredictable. And if her levelheaded, intelligent daughter had suddenly found herself as the object of a handsome young man's undivided attention for whom she harbored unspoken feelings…Jedi or no, the consequences could be disastrous if they chose to act upon those feelings.  
The signs were all there – any mother would see them.  
The careful way Padmé held herself as she walked into the Senate Rotunda on a Holonet news feed Jobal had watched last week, her body swaying slightly as she readjusted her posture. The increased roundness to her heart-shaped face, and the voluminous clothing that she now seemed to prefer were all barely discernable hints hidden in plain sight. Her Padmé – her brave, beautiful little girl – was expecting.  
She inwardly scolded herself that her conclusion was strictly hypothetical and based loosely on simple observation, and guilt caused a wince to crease her forehead that she even considered the possibility Padmé would behave so irresponsibly with _any_ man – not to mention a celebrated Jedi war hero. And yes, that too was a hypothetical assumption, but in Jobal's mind, there was no doubt that if her daughter was indeed with child, the baby's parentage was beyond questioning.

This was the reason why Jobal refused to breathe a word of her thoughts to anyone – for the truth was rarely present in the gossip network encircling the Senate – and if the supposed scandalous relationship of a Jedi Knight and a Galactic Senator was splashed across Holonet feeds throughout the Republic, whether it was true or not…would destroy Padmé's reputation and Jedi Skywalker's very way of life. Jobal could not bear to risk that kind of harsh exposure upon her beloved daughter with one careless remark. Her only wish was that Padmé had come to her and trusted her with whatever circumstances were shaping her life.  
And that brought her to the secondary goal for this evening.  
Jobal straightened in her seat, brushing her fingertips across the skin under her eyes to check for stray traces of moisture, and pressed a button on the control panel. A tiny green indicator light flared into existence and she stared unblinking at the screen. "Padmé, I know that you told me not to worry, but I am afraid that I can no longer meet your request. It's been two weeks since we've heard from you, and all of us are anxious for your reply. Please, Padmé –" Jobal leaned forward, quietly pleading, "I know you must have a lot on your mind, and that Coruscant has never been a very safe place for you, but _please_…please let us know that you are all right, regardless of what your security captain thinks." She firmed her mouth into a thin line, trying to conceal the trembling in her lips. "We love you, Padmé – always remember that. Come home soon, dear."  
She swiftly touched the screen, ending the recording session, and cupped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasping sob. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she thumbed the transceiver button, and the message went on its way to join its numerous predecessors – all of which had gone unanswered. But she continued to hope. It was all she had left.

The door clicked softly, and a small, hushed voice called, "Grandmama? It's time for dinner."  
Jobal sniffed and wiped her eyes, her expression shifting into a warm, bright smile as she turned to face the doorway. "Thank you, Pooja, I'll be right there."  
Her eight year-old granddaughter hesitated for a second, and then crept into the room, her round face full of worry. Her father Darred's intelligent green eyes peered up at Jobal curiously, and the soft yellow light of the room glinted gold on her curly hair as she asked, "Did you get a message from Aunt Padmé?"  
Jobal worked to keep her expression soft and open, reaching out to take Pooja's small hand in her own, and replied soothingly, "Aunt Padmé is very busy, sweetheart, and it might not be safe for her to talk to us right now. You remember why that is?" Pooja nodded with innocent seriousness; her mother had explained that Aunt Padmé was an important Senator and a lot of bad things were happening, so she could not come because she wanted them to be safe. Pooja did not really understand why anyone would want to hurt her Aunt Padmé, but she wished that she would come home soon so that Grandmama didn't have to be sad anymore.  
Her young face brightened suddenly, and she grinned at Jobal. "Aunt Padmé will come visit soon, Grandmama – know why?" Jobal slowly shook her head. Pooja's little chin rose in triumph as she announced, "Because Aunt Padmé has never missed my birthday party!"  
Her Grandmama laughed, and drew her in close for a warm hug. "Well then," Jobal murmured, kissing the top of Pooja's head, "I guess we'll see Aunt Padmé in five days, wishing a very happy birthday to nine year-old Pooja Naberrie." The little girl pulled away, looking so self-assured and smug that Jobal had to hold back a giggle, and allowed Pooja to urge her to her feet. She followed her granddaughter into the dining room, where the rest of the Naberrie family was already seated around the large rectangular table.

Ruwee's pale blue eyes found his wife as soon as she entered, and Jobal smiled at him softly, hoping to erase the concern in his loving gaze. Her oldest daughter Sola bustled out of the kitchen, setting a bowl filled with small loaves of bread on the table and calling for her husband to bring in the salad.  
Pooja paraded happily to her seat, silently celebrating her success of the "mission" her Grandpapa had given, and flashed Ruwee a cheeky grin. He winked, the gesture unnoticed by Jobal as eleven year-old Ryoo wrapped her slender arms around her Grandmama's waist in an exuberant hug. Jobal gently stroked her oldest grandchild's dark brown hair, even as the movement called forth an image of Padmé as a child, and settled in her chair on the end of the table, opposite Ruwee. Padmé's chair was no longer conspicuously empty – Pooja had enthusiastically volunteered to fill that spot, which placed her beside Sola and at her grandfather's elbow, and she promptly began to talk his ear off around mouthfuls of food.  
Jobal could not help but notice that her remaining family members were unusually quiet.  
Sola gamely attempted to draw out a conversation with her mother, and Jobal responded as best she could – all the while observing the darting glances her oldest child shared with Darred from across the table.  
Ryoo was picking her way through the meal, looking down at her plate, a curtain of brown hair hiding her expression. Jobal knew that the young girl was worried about the classes she was missing; Sola and Darred had withdrawn Ryoo and Pooja from school for a few weeks to avoid unpleasant questions about their missing aunt – and because the adults in their lives were growing concerned about some of the rumors circulating through Theed in regards to "educational reform."  
Change had indeed come upon the Republic, exactly as Padmé had predicted – and it was not a good change, no matter how much sugar coating the Emperor's words about "ensuring security and continuing stability" placed on an obviously staged political coup. And those thoughts only served to awaken the marrow-chilling dread for her silent, youngest child. _Oh, Padmé, _Jobal lamented inwardly, _what have you become involved in that you have to disappear – cut yourself off from the people who love you?  
_She suddenly felt a pair of questioning eyes studying her from across the room, and resolutely picked up her fork, determined to finish her meal even though she was not hungry.

Dessert was a quiet affair – more subdued than dinner, which hardly seemed possible – and the family worked together to clear the table. When Jobal began to roll up her sleeves to start washing the dishes, Sola pressed a steaming cup of caria tea into her hands and shooed her into the sitting room.  
Jobal settled onto the plush, cream-colored settee and stared out the window, the lightly floral scent of the tea wafting upwards from the liquid's surface. The silver-blue glow of Naboo's three moons, Ohma D'un, Rori and Tasia, cast triple shadows of tree leaves upon the garden located on the southeast side of their property. She could just make out the dark silhouette of Ruwee, standing beside the low hedges and gazing up at the sky. He told her that he went out there to gather his thoughts of the day, but Jobal knew better. He went out there to worry about Padmé, so no one else – especially his wife – would see.  
She sipped at her tea, its herbal remedy dulling the razor-sharp edge of her anxiety, and she looked up when two small shadows fell across her lap. "We're going to go to bed now, Grandmama," Ryoo explained with quiet seriousness, her large brown eyes radiating concern, but her expression was thoughtful.  
Jobal smiled at her and set aside her cup. "Come give me a hug, then," she said, opening her arms. Both Ryoo and Pooja crowded into their grandmother's embrace, and she kissed their foreheads, whispering in their ears, "Sleep well, my dear ones. Dream happy dreams." Each girl simultaneously laid a kiss on her cheeks, and she reluctantly let them slip from her arms, watching wistfully as Ryoo took her sister's hand and led her upstairs. Pooja waved over the banister just before she vanished from view, and a deep, soft voice issued from the hallway.

"Girls heading off to bed?"  
Jobal nodded, retrieving her cup from the nearest table and stared down at the amber-colored liquid. "They looked tired. And I suppose I didn't realize how late it is."  
She felt Ruwee settle his weight on the cushion next to her, his eyes on her face as he remarked, "The air seems cooler tonight; I guess spring hasn't quite arrived yet."  
"It will come when it is time. Just like it always does."  
A large hand framed her cheek and gently pulled her face sideways, urging her to meet his eyes. When she finally did, Ruwee spoke tenderly, "Just like Padmé, Jobal. You mustn't worry so much for her; you know she wouldn't like it."  
Jobal sighed heavily, leaning into his hand. "I know… But it's been so long, Ruwee. And with everything that's been happening in the capital – Padmé may be an adult now, but I'm still her mother. It's my prerogative to worry about her."  
Ruwee chuckled low in his throat, and gave her a brief kiss. "Don't I know it," he teased with a small smile, and slowly dropped his hand from her face. Jobal raised her cup to her lips, sipping cautiously at the hot beverage, and watched Sola and Darred exit the kitchen, carrying their own cups of caria tea, as well as one for Ruwee. Sola handed a cup to her father, who wordlessly nodded thanks and waited only until she and Darred sat down on the settee across from them before he asked, "Well?" His tone was low and dark, saturated with apprehension and a need for clarity, and the atmosphere in the room grew instantly tense.

Darred leaned forward, perched on the edge of the settee, his arms resting on his thighs, his cup cradled in his palms. He recounted in a slow, quiet voice, "I was able to get in touch with some friends from University who now work for RSF, though none of them are currently assigned to the Palace. But," his green eyes lit up, "they were able to contact _their_ friends and give me some answers. I had to call in a _lot_ of favors," he admitted ruefully.  
Jobal straightened, her spine stiff with anticipation. RSF was Royal Naboo Security Forces – its loyal men and women were trained to protect the Queen, the Royal Court and dignitaries…and Naboo's Senator. They would have some inkling of her daughter's whereabouts – it was simply what they did.  
Ruwee nodded at Darred encouragingly, and not without a measure of impatience, and their son-in-law continued. "According to a Palace Security official, Queen Apailana and her advisors received a communiqué from Padmé a few hours after the emergency Senate session five days ago." His expression saddened, and his gaze shifted from Ruwee to Jobal. "No one has seen or heard from her since."  
The air left Jobal's lungs in a rush. All she could do was stare at Darred in horrified disbelief, until Ruwee voiced the question that she was unable to ask. "What do you mean 'no one'?" he demanded fiercely. "What about that Captain assigned to protect her – Typho, that's his name. _He_ doesn't know where she is?"  
A dozen emotions flitted across Darred's face, before he settled on worry. He turned sideways to glance at his wife, who was rigid and silent beside him. Her blue eyes met his, and Sola gave him a single nod in assent to his unspoken query. He turned back to face his in-laws, who were watching the exchange in a mixture of suspicion and confusion, and inhaled a deep breath of caria-scented air. "Palpatine has issued an arrest warrant for Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi…on the basis that he is the prime suspect in Padmé's disappearance."  
"Suspect?" Jobal whispered hoarsely.  
Darred's face was full of apology. "It's been broadcasting all over the HoloNet nonstop. I thought you would have seen it by now." He sighed again. "They're saying that Master Kenobi has kidnapped her."

A harsh gasp erupted in the silence, and Darred swiftly caught Jobal's cup from shattering on the floor as it slid from her trembling fingers. Ruwee's eyes were closed in anguish, and he unconsciously wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders, pulling her shivering body to his side. Jobal had her hand over her mouth, her head slowly shaking from side to side in denial, and tears began to seep from the corners of her eyes. Sola immediately got up from her seat and squeezed in on her mother's opposite side, taking her hand tightly in her own.  
Jobal just could not understand; she could not _make _herself understand.  
The Jedi were peacekeepers, not the instigators of a rebellion as Palpatine tried to paint them, and the people of Naboo had nothing but the highest respect for the Order as a whole. Jobal herself held a considerable amount of gratitude for the two Jedi that had assisted her daughter during the blockade crisis, and those who had safeguarded her life from an assassin only a few years ago. Obi-Wan Kenobi had aided Padmé both of those times, and Jobal knew from various conversations with her that she counted the Jedi Master as a good friend. So why, _why_ would a friend abduct someone who may prove to be his only ally in a galaxy determined to exterminate his kind? It made no sense.  
"You're right," Sola said, and Jobal realized belatedly that she must have spoken her last thought aloud, "None of this makes any sense at all. A reorganization of the entire Republic constitution? The Jedi accused of treason and wiped out during a skirmish at the Temple? That a _Jedi Master_ would even _contemplate_ an act as ludicrous as taking a Galactic Senator hostage…it's utterly beyond me." Jobal glanced sidelong at her oldest daughter and took in the firmed line of her jaw, the spark of righteous anger in her eyes – and saw the woman that could have become a great leader, just like her sister. "I care not what Palpatine has said about the Jedi. I cannot believe that the Order has become a threat to democracy; the foundation of their philosophy coincides with the very principles the Republic was built upon! Padmé was right about that man – all this was just a ploy to overthrow our system of government, placing himself at the head of a new order and securing his own power!"

"Sola, please!" Darred hissed, waving a hand frantically in an effort to make her lower her voice. "It's not safe to state our opinions of the Emperor, especially the not-so-generous ones!"  
Ruwee fixed his son-in-law with a stern, steely-blue glare. "The Naboo have always been peace-loving and diplomatic – but neither have we turned away from supporting the crucial role democracy plays in our society."  
"And I'm not saying that we should, Dad," Darred backtracked, breathing out his words in a hushed, hurried tone. "All I'm saying is that the Empire is not like anything we have dealt with before. And if Sola is right about _him_ orchestrating the attack on the Jedi Temple…then we have no idea what else he might be capable of."  
"I agree with Sola."  
The other three members of the Naberrie family reacted with surprise as Jobal spoke up quietly.  
The numbing white fog of shock was comforting to the overwhelmed mind for a time, but she knew that she could not linger there. As much as her worry for Padmé constricted her breath like a heavy weight upon her chest, Jobal was a natural-born pacifist; she was needed to mediate through the friction building within the room. "The Jedi have demonstrated nothing but nobility of spirit and selfless sacrifice throughout this war, and countless millennia before that. And though I have never met Master Kenobi, Padmé speaks very highly of him and his protégé, Jedi Skywalker. I cannot believe that a supposed friend would turn on her in this manner – regardless of circumstances."  
Her unassuming tone and mildly assuring statements visibly eased the stiffness in Ruwee's broad shoulders, and Sola squeezed her hand gently in response. Darred gazed at her for a heartbeat, his brows drawn together so they created a crevasse on the center of his forehead, and his mouth flattened to a thin line as he struggled to contain his emotions. What bothered Jobal the most was the pity she could see in the soft green of his eyes. Her heart tightened in sadness. The last four years had robbed Darred – indeed, all of them – of their innocence, and their insulation from the troubles of the Republic. That knowledge showcased itself clearly as her son-in-law muttered darkly, "I don't know what to believe anymore."

Silence hung in the air, dense and oppressive as smog, and Jobal reached for her discarded cup, taking a sip of lukewarm tea – if only for something to do. Darred was hunched over, head bowed with his hands clasped between his knees. Ruwee had his arms crossed tight over his chest, his blue stare unfocused. Sola slowly pulled her hand from her mother's grasp and cleared her throat. As she had expected, everyone awakened from their reverie and looked at her with expectant faces. "I've requested an audience with Queen Apailana."  
Her husband appeared uninterested by this news while Ruwee and Jobal blinked at each other in shock. Sola saw the question burning in her father's deep-set eyes, and a satirical, calculating smirk lifted one side of her mouth. "Being the only sibling of Naboo's Senator grants privileges that I have not taken advantage of in the past. I requested the meeting under the guise of a discussion on planetary education clauses, but the Queen undoubtedly knows the real reason for my petition." Turning aside, she rummaged through a low pocket on her burgundy dress and held up a sheet of flimsi embossed with the Royal Crest. "I was given this today. The Queen will receive me at the Palace in two days' time." Jobal made a small noise of dismay, and Sola glanced at her apologetically. "That was the very earliest I could get in to see Apailana."  
Jobal gave her a small, half-hearted smile and reached out to pat her oldest daughter's cheek. "I understand, dear. Thank you for making the request – it was very bold of you. Padmé would be proud."  
Sola's cobalt eyes clouded with emotion, and her chin quivered slightly before she clenched her jaw and nodded once. Her mother gently withdrew her palm from her cheek, and both of them rotated to face Ruwee as he said grimly, "Hopefully, we will hear from Padmé directly and not have to rely on the Queen for news about her – or HoloNet reports," he added with a hint of irony, and Darred looked up. The two men traded weak, lopsided grins, and mother and daughter exhaled quiet sighs of relief.  
Out of habit, Jobal caught a glimpse of the antique chronometer sitting atop a high shelf on the wall, and had to do a double take to process the current time being displayed. "I think it's well past time for all of us to be in bed." She rose gracefully to her feet, and the others sporadically followed suit, Sola swiping her cup from her hands and gathering the rest to be carried into the kitchen. Darred bid his in-laws good night and headed towards the stairs, planning to check on the girls as he made his way to the guest room. Ruwee shuffled over to a keypad on the far wall and began prepping the security system, and Sola returned from the kitchen, enfolding her mother in a brief, warm hug.

Jobal clung to her for a moment, wishing futilely that she could wrap her arms around her youngest child as well. They slowly broke apart, and then made their way upstairs, leaving Ruwee to turn off the lights. The security computer beeped softly, indicating that the system was set for overnight watch, and Padmé's father powered down the sitting room lamps. Silver-blue light streamed in through the gauzy curtains on the windows, and he paused to glance outside at the inky black sky. Millions of white pinpoints glittered like specks of diamond, and the city was bathed in a luminous glow – peaceful and oblivious to trouble as it slept. Ruwee let the curtain fall back into place, feeling exhausted, and yet wondering bleakly how he would ever fall asleep with so many worries humming in his brain. The remaining member of the Naberrie family walked up the stairs, guided by the silvery moonlight, the image of the sleeping city floating across his vision as he readied for bed.  
Had he kept gazing out of the window, he would have seen a shadowy figure glide from beneath a stone archway right beside the house, and vanish into the night.

------------

The aural monitor retracted its tiny metallic claws from the weathered stone of the archway, and his thumb slid sideways to power down the device. Unhooking the small earpiece from his lobe, he tucked the equipment into a pocket and silently counted to a hundred. A thick cluster of ivy leaves, gleaming silver in the light, offered him some cover as he peered up at the sitting room window. Confident that no one was watching, he ducked out of the archway and sprinted on soundless feet towards the southeast. He had been this way many times, and was unconcerned of any citizens being awake to observe his actions given the lateness of the hour. He missed Coruscant in that respect. Coruscant _never_ slept – its activities were endless, its heart constantly throbbing to the point of agitation. But he could appreciate the easygoing, albeit naïve disposition of Nubians. As a people, they seemed to have learned to set aside their struggles for a few hours and let the night pass them by in slumber. In an odd, almost perverse way, he envied them.

Commander Cody slowed his pace as he neared his destination, mentally reviewing the conversations he had heard among Senator Amidala's family. He had determined some days ago that none of the Naberries had any idea of the Senator's whereabouts, which hardly surprised him after viewing the datachip that the Emperor had given him. Senator Amidala was keeping a great many secrets from those who shared her blood. He wondered how she had been able to lie for so long, to mask the truth from those who deserved her unwavering allegiance.  
Cody might not understand the intimate workings of a nuclear family, but he understood loyalty to blood.  
With that in mind, he pondered the child's presumptuous statement about her birthday – and what action to take in response. Pooja Naberrie was only eight standard years old, but she did assert herself quite confidently in regards to a visit from Amidala. Even if nothing came from it, he could not let an opportunity of this magnitude go unexplored. _Five days, _he reminded himself. It was more than enough time to prepare, and the team of ARC troopers he had assembled were the very best.  
Cody reached a small brownstone building approximately five blocks from the Naberrie residence, and rapped twice on the wooden door in quick succession. The door swung open towards the inside, and Deuce nodded once, his body angled slightly behind the frame. "Commander," he greeted, and Cody was pleased to see him reholster his blaster pistol. It was rewarding to know that he did not let his guard down for one second, even on this "sleepy little garden-planet" as his tactical officer, Faust, had dubbed Naboo.  
That clone was situated in a far corner of the main room, surrounded by circuit panels and holographic displays of Theed, the Palace, the Naberrie's house, the planet, and the entire Chommell Sector. He looked up briefly as Cody entered and informed, "No updates to report, Commander." Faust leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head in a casual gesture and heaved a bored sigh. Cody raised an eyebrow at his fellow trooper, but did not reprimand him on account of his cavalier behavior for two reasons.

One, all of these ARCs were used to the battlefield, the nonstop action of warfare – it was, for lack of a better term, what they had been born to do. Cody alone knew the true motivation for this mission, and he was strictly prohibited from sharing the information recorded on the datachip with anyone. So he allowed the others to believe that they were here to baby-sit a missing Senator's family in the hope that a lead would crop up and pinpoint her location.  
And two, no standard-issue foot soldier clone was capable of conducting himself in the same manner as an ARC trooper – it simply was not written in their genetic code. ARC troopers had been granted a bit more leniency in the docile part of the Kaminoans' cloning techniques; they were more of an individual than a drone – but according to Taun We, the head geneticist, nowhere near as self-reliant as the original host.  
Cody had never met the man from whom the entire Great Army of the Republic had sprung – all he knew was that his name was Jango Fett, a Mandalorian bounty hunter who had been killed by a Jedi during the Battle of Geonosis. Rumors had circulated the training facilities that Fett had taken a clone and raised him as a son as part of his payment. Cody wondered where the boy was now, and if he would ever get the chance to meet him.  
_Irrelevant, _Cody's combat education spurned the wayward thought from his mind, and he headed into the next room. It might have been a bedroom at one time, but now it was filled wall-to-wall with a communications array – complete with a relay dish poised just inside the large window frame. Three large computer screens displayed encryption sequences scrolling left to right, and pale blue light illuminated the alert, intent expression on another clone's face as he stared at the central screen.

Relay was a fairly new ARC – created only fourteen months ago and relatively untested in the field. But that was not why Cody had chosen him. Relay had been created with a small batch of clones using an experimental process that injected a concentrated protein into the brain to increase the number of cells. The Kaminoans deduced that the protein would stimulate heightened intelligence and introduce a new, smarter breed of clones into the GAR. Unfortunately, if the protein was administered either too early or too late during the developmental process, the brain would overload, resulting in instant death, or the protein would be absorbed into the cerebrum and cause cognitive damage. By the time the geneticists got it right, Relay and four others were the only ones to survive – out of a group of five thousand embryos.  
In Cody's book, that made Relay an invaluable asset.  
"Any new developments?" Cody asked, approaching Relay's motionless form.  
As he expected, the clone straightened his posture and spun to face him, assuming the respectful stance of a soldier addressing a ranking officer. "Yes, sir. The Alpha Fleet has been diverted to Yaga Minor and –"  
"Just the basics, Relay," Cody said with the barest hint of irritability. Relay nodded stiffly, and Cody added quietly, "And at ease."  
Relay's shoulders relaxed, and he turned sideways to point at a seemingly random strand of encryption on the screen. "All of our searches are coming up empty, sir. The _Vanquish_ just returned from Ilum and reported that the crystal caves are devoid of life, with no indication of recent activity, and the _Justice's Fist _finished the sweep of the Mid Rim worlds." He stretched far to the right, waving a hand at the next screen. "Nothing of consequence has come through the documented smuggling comm channels – just the normal interactions regarding spice shipments and other black market goods. And –" He jabbed a finger in the opposite direction, at the left-hand screen, which appeared positively cluttered with strands of code compared to the others, "I'm still working on separating the algorithms for the unknown channels and until I get a fix on the patterns, I really can't translate the individual codes." Relay seemed slightly crestfallen at admitting this, and gave the computer screen an angry glare.  
Cody pulled the aural monitor out of his pocket, calmly remarking, "Keep working on it. I have another recording for you to add to the archive." He set the device on the tabletop beside Relay. "And start programming a remote transceiver to interlink with a Nubian personal communications terminal – the smallest one you can find. Have it ready by 0900 tomorrow evening."

He left Relay to his work, exiting out into the hallway, and the smell of warming rations filtered throughout the dwelling. His stomach reacted to the scent of food, but Cody ignored it for the moment, searching the perimeter for Deuce.  
The sergeant was in the midst of inventorying their equipment cache, and glanced up when Cody entered, expressionless as he closed the door behind him. "What can I do for you, Commander?" Deuce was growing more at ease in his presence, and Cody did not know whether to address it or not – for he had to admit with some measure of resentment that he was beginning to rely on the sergeant's problem-solving expertise far too much.  
Nevertheless, Cody continued with his present course of action by replying, "I have a covert assignment for you to undertake, Sergeant."  
Deuce became perfectly still, and he watched his commanding officer with a mixture of curiosity and excitement; the monotony was starting to affect him, as well. "Tomorrow night, you will enter the Naberrie residence, slice into their comm terminal and download all archived messages, and attach a remote transceiver inside the control panel."  
"I should think that Relay would be able to handle this kind of assignment, Commander." The comment was delivered with Deuce's usual stoicism, but Cody detected the minute traces of sarcasm.  
Cody shook his head. "Relay is more than capable of handling the technical side, but he lacks the stealth required for this assignment. He will show you how to operate the transceiver and make sure that it is set to the proper frequency. Then we will no longer have to eavesdrop to obtain the information we need." He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling strangely confident in his plan. "The transceiver will transmit all incoming messages to our communications array, and Relay should be able to hack into Palace encryption and trace any signals back to their source."  
Deuce's brow rose impressively, and once more, Cody was reminded that he had made the right choice in selecting Relay as a member of his team. "Once the source is located," he explained, "we'll hail the nearest Star Destroyer and send it on an intercept course. Then…" A grim smile twisted Cody's scarred face, "…it's only a matter of time."

------------

Personally, Padmé thought that her plan was a stroke of pure genius.  
The message had been sent a few hours ago, using Artoo's heavily encrypted transmitter, and both he and Anakin had assured her that it reached its destination. Now, all they had to do was wait.  
Patience was definitely not Ani's forte – he had left her and the twins shortly after forcing down a quick meal, informing Padmé that he was headed for the hangar bay to "tinker" with the skiff's starboard engine, which he said was performing below average. Padmé stifled a giggle as she remembered how Artoo had whistled in confusion that he was unaware of any problems, and then Anakin slapped his domed head, to which the astromech droid had responded with an electronic razz. The pair had left with the echoes of rapid tootles and her husband's boisterous laughter traveling down the MedCenter hall, and not ten minutes later Padmé received a most welcome visitor.

Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan had enfolded her in a warm hug that matched the friendly glow in his dark eyes as he congratulated her. Now they were chatting comfortably to while away the time – Bail sitting in the only chair in the room, and Padmé reclining on the bed, a baby tucked in her arms and the other nestled in the crib. He was homeward bound as soon as Captain Antilles declared that the ship was ready for departure, but he had asked to speak with Padmé before he left. She was a trusted colleague in the Senate, a woman of noble character in an increasingly corrupt government, and above all, she was a dear friend. And he had no idea when he might see her again.  
Yoda had briefly explained the plan to Bail so that he might contribute when the time came, and he also intimated how vitally important it was that Padmé's twins remained hidden from the Emperor. He was now an exclusive member of a secret that could bring down an Empire – a secret that stemmed from the parentage of two tiny infants.  
He could see the bewilderment that Padmé kept almost successfully concealed in the depths of her velvety brown eyes when he merely nodded as she confessed her marriage to Anakin Skywalker, naming him as the father of her babies. He remained amiable and polite, and waited for the question to bubble out of her.  
Finally, she remarked in a casual tone that belied her interest, "You do not seem as surprised as I expected."  
"Over what?" Bail asked, a glint of humor in his stare.  
"That I am married to a Jedi Knight – a _famous_ Jedi Knight, who is forbidden by his credo to have any type of intimate relationship – and am the mother of his children." She looked at him expectantly, eyebrows arched high on her forehead, awaiting an explanation for his nonchalance.

He was quiet for a moment, gazing at her with a dubious expression that made her feel like she was trying to convince him that he had the mental capacity of a Kowakian monkey-lizard, and she shifted uncomfortably. Then he snorted softly and shook his head at her in mock-disappointment, as if she were a child that had been caught with her hand in the sweets jar. "I _am_ a politician, after all, Padmé. I notice and expect subterfuge wherever I go – and am usually quite good at determining the cause." A wide grin lit up his bearded face. "I had my suspicions for a while about you and Anakin Skywalker. I don't think you realize how much the mere mention of his name affects you, though you hide it well. But the nature of your self-stated "friendship" with Anakin became clear to me only a week ago." His grin softened as he glimpsed the puzzlement on Padmé's face, and he continued, "You forget that I was there on the landing platform when Anakin and Kenobi arrived with the Chancellor. I was speaking to Anakin, thanking him for his aid, when he became…distracted. It took only a split second – but I noticed him glance sideways, and he excused himself a minute later."  
Padmé felt the blood drain from her cheeks. She recalled their passionate reunion within the shadows of an enormous column in the Senate Complex Main Hall with astonishing clarity. Bail resumed quietly, "I followed the delegation down the hall, listening to his footsteps as they quickened to a run, and the hushed, urgent whispers that followed…and I chanced a glance over my shoulder, driven purely by intense curiosity."  
Her eyes slid closed in humiliation. She could just imagine what Bail had seen – Anakin's tall, broad-shouldered frame embracing her slight, slender body, their lips melded together in a feverish kiss…the Jedi and the Senator, engaged in an act that could ignite the gossiping tongues of the galaxy. Fear soured in her stomach as she wondered if others had seen them that day. The entire Complex had been infested with HoloNet reporters, Senators, aides, and numerous other beings. She had warned Anakin to be more careful, but he hadn't listened – and neither had she. She had just been so consumed by her need for him…

A warm, gentle hand touched hers, and Padmé's eyes snapped open. Bail was leaning towards her, his expression full of compassion and understanding. "I saw only because I had suspicions, Padmé, nothing more. I doubt anyone else had the same insight into your private life that I received that day – the Hall was nearly emptied at that point." He squeezed her hand, and his gaze transformed into one that seemed to plead. "I would never use my knowledge of your relationship to Anakin against you, Padmé. My first thought, when I realized that it was you in his arms…was delight. Yes," he said in response to Padmé's jerk of surprise, "I was glad that you had found someone to give your heart – someone with whom you already shared a deep connection. And I told no one of what I had witnessed, or even of my suspicions. Your secret will remain one as long as you wish – at least coming from me." He smiled then, and Padmé found herself smiling in return, the icy stabs of fear melting under the warmth of his heartfelt words.  
Laying her other hand on top of his, she spoke earnestly, "I know that you could never in good conscience use my love for Anakin against me. You are a good man, Bail Organa."  
His smile widened briefly, and then he slowly withdrew his hand, sitting back in his seat. "Then let us move on to the next order of business." In the blink of an eye, Bail's entire countenance grew serious - exactly as he had appeared five days ago at the emergency Senate session. "I wanted to let you know that things have been set in motion."  
Padmé's brow wrinkled in confusion, and she tilted her head slightly. "Things?"  
He nodded once, his eyes suddenly burning with intensity. "You remember what we spoke of a few days ago in your apartment? About the preservation of democracy?"

Her lips parted in shock, eyes widening, and the memory of that conversation swept through her mind in a rush. She was instantly transported back to the small salon in her apartment, surrounded by fellow Senators who had proven to be beings of integrity. They spoke of forcing the Chancellor's hand diplomatically and reverting the constitution to its original state – of making a stand and drafting a petition, signed by two thousand Senators who thought that it was past time for Palpatine to lay aside his emergency powers.  
Then Bail had said something that made all of them fidget in their places – save for Padmé, who had felt weighted with a sudden onslaught of dread:  
"_We can't sit around debating any longer – we have decided to do what we can to stop it. Senator Mon Mothma and I are putting together an organization…"  
_" _Say no more, Senator Organa, I understand. At this point, it's better to leave some things unsaid."  
_She had seen it in Bail's face, and in Mon Mothma's normally placid blue eyes. They were prepared to do far more than sign petitions or conduct clandestine meetings among like-minded Senators. "An organization" meant taking action, and taking action could only have one definition – one that caused a myriad of conflicting emotions to flare inside Padmé's heart.  
Rebellion.

A low whine emerged from the infant clutched in her arms, and Leia's tiny brow crinkled as she stared up at her mother, reacting to the feelings emanating from Padmé as only an exceptionally gifted Force Sensitive could. Yet Padmé was oblivious to her daughter's distress for the moment – so consumed was she by her own. She reached out and seized Bail's hand, her knuckles whitening with strain, and begged, "Bail, please, don't do anything foolish."  
The corners of his mouth lifted in a self-depreciating smile. "It's a little late for that."  
Her anxiety mounted; heart thudding in her ears, Padmé was dimly aware of Leia's fussing and automatically began to rock the newborn gently in an effort to soothe her. It did no good. Speaking in a fierce, rapid murmur, Padmé retorted, "Palpatine is no mere politician; he is a Sith Lord. He has the ability to command the Force, as well as enough military might to overturn every level of civilization in the galaxy. It is a very dangerous gambit to orchestrate a rebellion, even if it is in its infancy. If Palpatine were to discover you…" She barely suppressed a shiver, unable to finish the sentence. Anakin was extremely reluctant to share with her the full capabilities of a Sith Lord – most likely because the memory of acidic golden eyes blazing within his handsome face was not one that she could easily forget. What he did share had been enough to frost the blood in her veins.  
It had happened quite suddenly, with no conscious effort on his part or hers; she had only mentioned how beneficial it might be for Bail to know the extent of Palpatine's Force powers – Anakin's expression darkened, and he turned aside – and the images invaded her skull.  
Blue-white lightning erupting from aged fingertips, crashing against an amethyst lightsaber blade with stunning ferocity, the brilliance causing her to flinch from the harsh glare.  
The gasp that had escaped from her lips made Anakin jump, startled, and he swiftly glanced at her, about to ask what was wrong… He took one look at her pale features, the shock in her brown eyes, and he knew.  
He was at her side in an instant; wrapping her in his arms and apologizing repeatedly for something he had no control over. "I never wanted you to see that," he had murmured in her ear – and for once, Padmé could fully appreciate his compulsive need to shield her from what he considered dangerous or harmful.

She pulled her thoughts from the recollection as she felt the small body cradled against her own squirming and twisting, and Leia's groans were becoming steadily louder. But she continued to hold Bail's stare, silently urging him to reconsider this particular course of action, until he looked down at her daughter. His stern, defiant expression melted, and he asked softly, "May I?" He began reaching for Leia.  
Padmé blinked, and then nodded, helping him settle Leia's feather-light weight into his arms. The grumbles and groans quieted as soon as the youngest Skywalker glimpsed an unfamiliar face hovering above her, and she studied the Senator with surprising directness for one so new to the universe. Bail smiled widely as he remarked, "She has her mother's eyes." Gazing down into those innocent chestnut orbs, he said in a low, quiet voice, "Breha and I always wanted to have a child of our own. We talked of it for years, and even picked out names…until we found out that it was impossible for us to conceive. I wish we had known sooner – and perhaps had been spared the heartache and the pain of too many miscarriages."  
Padmé winced in sympathy; she could scarcely imagine what Alderaan's queen had gone through during such a difficult time, and how hard it must have been for Bail.  
"But even though this precious child is not my own," he continued, his tone still low, but burgeoning with intensity, "I would do anything within my power – even give up my very life – to ensure that she and all the children in this galaxy do not grow up under the iron fist of the Empire." He looked up at Padmé, his dark stare boring into her own. "I have placed my hope in the future, Padmé…and _your children_ represent that future – the one that I dream of when I cross political boundaries and place my career, and my life, in danger. I know what is at stake." His eyes fell to the tiny, unblinking newborn nestled in his embrace, and added in a hushed whisper, "I know that all too well."

Tears blurred the edges of Padmé's vision, her heart swelling into a lump in her throat, and she wordlessly accepted Leia back into her arms, watching the face of the most upright, virtuous man she had ever encountered in her entire political career. She could see the rebirth of integrity and fair dealing in his words about the future, and more than anything, she saw a true friend that understood the risks that Palpatine and his Empire presented to her family – to all families everywhere. Bail's very nature compelled him to fight against injustice, and in that respect, he was very much like Anakin. Perhaps that was the reason why Ani was able to converse so openly with Bail, despite his constantly professed dislike of politicians – because on some instinctive level, he realized that the Senator of Alderaan was a kindred spirit.  
Padmé blinked away the moisture clouding her eyes and began to suggest, "If there is ever anything I can do…"  
Bail held up a hand, palm outward, and gently shook his head. "I could never bring myself to ask. You have done more than enough for our cause, Padmé – and for that, I am deeply grateful. What you need to focus on now is taking care of your children and keeping them safe. There will come a time," he added with a small smile, echoing her words from that terrible day in the Senate Rotunda.  
A sharp trill, like a bird's call, interrupted the silence. Bail retrieved a small, tubular communicator from his belt, and Leia's head turned towards the strange noise. "Yes, Captain?"  
"Viceroy Organa," Captain Antilles used Bail's formal title out of habit, "The ship is ready for departure. Shall we prepare for launch?"  
"Indeed. I shall be down presently." He clipped the device to his belt and looked over at Padmé, only to see that she had set Leia in the crib and was cautiously rising to her feet. Bail was at her side in one long stride, and linked her arm companionably through his, waiting until she felt steady before moving.

Together, they walked towards the door. Seeing the underlying tension on her face, Bail mildly joked, "I don't know if I can ever think of you as a Skywalker…though your knack for trouble seems to fit the name's reputation."  
She laughed, and the sound was filled with genuine amusement – it sparkled in the air as she replied, "I admit that I sometimes find myself acting more impetuous than any self-respecting Senator should. Anakin must be a bad influence."  
Bail's expression was saturated with warmth. "Good," was all he said, and Padmé felt a blush stain her cheeks. They paused at the threshold to the hallway, and Bail gently guided her arm through his and stood in front of her, holding her hands. "We will meet again, Padmé." He lifted her right hand, kissing her knuckles in a courtly gesture, and bowed. "But until that time, may the Force be with you – and your family." He gave her fingers one last squeeze, and then he turned and strode down the hall towards the turbolift doors.  
Padmé watched the doors slide closed behind him, and whispered soundlessly, "May the Force be with you, too, my friend."


	20. Friends, Enemies, Brothers

**Chapter Fifteen  
**_**Friends, Enemies, Brothers**_

He had not wanted to leave them…but if he had to stare at the same four walls for another second, he was certain that he would go mad.  
Anakin Skywalker was a man of action – and this sitting around and waiting routine was definitely grating against his nerves. It set his teeth on edge, and made him jumpy – practically crackling with energy that had to be siphoned out of his system. He had paced the limited confines of their room, trying to wear himself down while his brain went into hyperdrive, thousands of half-finished thoughts streaming through his head. Initially, he had felt Padmé's affectionate amusement caressing the ever-lessening space between their consciousnesses, and he could almost hear her whisper the endearment that awakened both embarrassment and approval within his heart: _My vine tiger…  
_Soon, though, his restlessness began to bleed through the thin veils separating his emotions from hers, and her dark eyes tracked his progress apprehensively, her shoulders tensing with each passing moment.  
Then the twins started whimpering and fidgeting in their wrapped blankets – and he knew that he had to get out of there, if only to spare his family from the aftereffects of his impatience.

He rounded up Artoo, told Padmé that he was going to work on the skiff's starboard engine – Artoo had virtually _blown_ that cover story – and trekked down to the hangar bay. After rummaging through the storage locker in the crew quarters, Anakin wasted no time. He stripped off the thin, white hospital garments and threw on charcoal grey coveralls stained with grease smears and splashes of engine coolant.  
As soon as the familiar smells hit his nostrils, he was overcome with a wave of nostalgia, and could almost see himself as an overeager nine year-old boy building a Pod Racer from scratch.  
Then he pushed the feeling aside with a wry half-smile. As much as he might miss the simpler existence he'd had as a child on Tatooine, he had no desire to relive the past. He still longed to see his mother, talk with her, one last time – but even that wish was not enough to keep him locked within his memories. In Anakin's opinion, his future seemed a whole lot brighter than it had ever been before.  
And he fully intended to keep it that way.  
"Artoo," he called, for the little droid was waiting dutifully in the hallway, "Switch on the ship's main console and run a diagnostic on the starboard engine. I think the injector pod is misfiring – and see if you can figure out where that ticking noise is coming from."  
He strode past the blue astromech and headed for Padmé's suite, wisely considering the possibility that he may need to cover his new arm with a protective glove, when Artoo's burbled query caused him to halt in mid-step. Anakin looked over his shoulder at Artoo incredulously. "What do you mean, 'what ticking noise'?" Artoo whistled in response, his electronic eye flashing between blue and red. "I know what I heard, Artoo – there was a ticking noise in the starboard engine when I brought the ship in for a landing. Now would you please run the diagnostic?" The little droid whistled again, managing to sound skeptical through a series of chirps and tweets.  
Anakin's jaw dropped in disbelief. "No, I did _not_ imagine it!" He raked a hand through his unruly blond hair as Artoo beeped a reply that conveyed the vocal equivalent of the phrase, _"Yeah, right."  
_He sighed in exasperation. "Artoo…" Glaring at the small astromech that had become one of his most valued friends, Anakin silently pointed a finger in the direction of the cockpit.

Twittering all the while about unnecessary actions, Artoo wheeled down the corridor in the direction his master indicated, and in a few minutes, Anakin heard the low thrum of the skiff's main power as it roared to life. The young man flicked on the lights in the suite and began pawing through various drawers and compartments, trying to locate a spare gauntlet – when the skiff suddenly trembled around him and Artoo let out a piercing screech. Shaking his head, Anakin shoved his fingers into a previously used glove – this particular one had received a burnt slash from wrist to forearm from a stray blaster bolt – and swiftly exited the suite, remarking loudly down the corridor, "I told you so."  
Artoo's electronic raspberry echoed from the cockpit, and Anakin snickered to himself, picking up the toolbox from the floor and ambling down the boarding ramp. Making his way to the starboard side, he situated his tall frame underneath the engine housing and pried open the access panel, eying the components critically. Clucking his tongue, he lay on his back and shimmied under the skiff to get a closer look. His face scant inches from the engine's circuitry, Anakin fumbled in the toolbox for a hydrospanner and thrust it into the tangled mass of wires, twisting several aside to get a glimpse of the injector pod.  
"Aha!" he exclaimed triumphantly. He shouted in the direction of the ramp, knowing that his voice would carry in the empty hangar bay, "I was right, Artoo – the injector pod's sensors are fried – that's why it's been misfiring. I must have pushed it too hard when we left Coruscant," he added sheepishly.  
Anakin fiddled with a few more connectors, jerking his flesh hand back with a hiss when a wayward spark landed on his index finger. "I – can't –" He grunted, using his gloved hand to hold a clump of wiring while his left wrist spun deftly to tighten a bolt into place, and exhaled in frustration. "I can't see which sensor needs to be recalibrated. Artoo, fire up the starboard engine and increase the power slowly. I should be able to tell, then."  
The astromech droid's reply traveled to Anakin's ears as a muted chirrup, and he snorted derisively. "By seeing which one is all scorched and blackened like a piece of charred bantha hide, that's how. Now fire it up." There was a second of silence, and then the machinery above him rumbled, the coolant fan whirring with a low-pitched hum. Anakin watched the indicator lights inside the panel with narrowed eyes, and the injector pod started to shake just noticeably. "Increase the power!" he yelled over the drone.

The worried string of beeps and chirps that followed did not improve his mood.  
"I _know_ what I'm doing, Artoo – now increase the power!"  
A shimmer of heat emanated from the panel as the engine's hum grew in intensity, and the injector pod's shaking morphed into an agitated vibration. And he saw it – the central sensor on the pod was turning blacker by the second, and its clamps were loosening from the unit. Anakin's grin of success lifted his mouth for a heartbeat before he realized that the clamps were loosening very rapidly as the injector pod continued to vibrate uncontrollably. His blue eyes widened in horror. "Uh-oh," he breathed.  
The central sensor snapped off, spraying a thick stream of black-brown lubricant into Anakin's face. He squeezed his eyes shut and closed his mouth, and the liquid settled copiously on his skin. The engine cut as soon as the main computer detected the malfunction, and he dimly heard Artoo's servomotors as the droid rolled down the ramp, whistling anxiously if he was all right.  
His nose full of the pungent aroma of engine lubricant, Anakin swiped at his face with his sleeve and growled, "Would you hand me a rag, Artoo?" Shoving himself out from under the skiff, he squinted in the bright light of the hangar bay and saw Artoo's cylindrical form through gummed-up eyelashes. The little droid exploded with a chorus of gleeful chirrups. Anakin glared. "It's _not funny,_ Artoo." He clambered to his feet, prepared to search for a rag himself, and he caught sight of his reflection on the skiff's mirror-like shell.  
His features were splattered with dark spots of lubricant, with the majority of the liquid coating the right side of his face so that it looked like he had a black eye, and strands of his normally radiation-bleached blond tresses were clumped together in brown tangles and standing up in all directions on his forehead.  
A boisterous guffaw erupted from his chest, and soon he was joining Artoo in peals of laughter, holding his sides as he fought for breath between each chuckle. "Well," Anakin choked out, "At least we know which sensor to replace."

A stained scrap of fabric drifted across his vision, and he took the rag from Artoo's extended appendage, scrubbing at his face. "There," he blinked a few times, certain that his vision was clear, and then tossed the rag aside. "Just remind me to shower on the ship before I head back to our room. Padmé will throw a fit if I show up looking like a spaceport mechanic." He scratched at his scalp, combing back the lubricant-soaked curls and commented, "We have spare part canisters in storage, right?" Artoo beeped a short response. "Good. Can you get me an injector pod central sensor – oh, and did you find the source of that ticking noise?" Anakin's head tilted to the side as he listened to Artoo's chirruped sounds. "An unusual reading in the output dampers? Hmm…maybe there's a short in the power coupling… You know – just get me a replacement injector pod; we can't risk the other two sensors quitting on us when Padmé and the twins are on board. Once that's done, we'll check on the coupling."  
Artoo rotated and wheeled into the skiff to collect the needed parts while Anakin settled onto the hangar's duracrete floor, feeling mildly enthusiastic. Despite what had happened with the injector pod, he was glad that the ship required a number of repairs. He was desperate for distractions – and he wanted to make absolutely certain that the skiff was the safest possible transportation for his angel and the little stars.  
He resumed his position underneath the access panel and began to unscrew the ruined injector pod from its restraints, dribbling the last traces of lubricant as he worked. He was blissfully unaware of everything except the complex machinery hovering above him, and he threw himself wholeheartedly into the task, the heavy weight of the last few days lifting momentarily from his chest. He took a deep, slow breath, enjoying the sensation.

A soft footfall resonated in the quiet. Anakin froze, the weight crushing into his lungs with sharp, sudden intensity. He recognized those footsteps – he did not know if he was ready to face him again. He did not know if he would _ever_ be ready.  
A calm, urbane voice confirmed his fears an instant later. "I thought I might find you here."

------------

_Make peace with him, you should, Obi-Wan, _Yoda had said. _Help you, it will.  
_He honestly wished to follow the old Master's advice…he just did not know how. Anakin was a completely different man, now. Obi-Wan had been used to his friend's abrupt mood swings and changing expressions – his thoughts and emotions shapeshifting in the blink of an eye, so unpredictably that Obi-Wan often had a hard time figuring out what he was really thinking – but all of that had changed. Anakin was now shifting between the apprentice and comrade from the battlefield, to the golden-eyed creature from the veranda, to the heartbroken boy who had knelt before Yoda in the conference room, to the loving husband and father that held his wife and children with such apparent devotion.  
Obi-Wan found it virtually impossible to reconcile so many facets of the young man's personality.  
He did know that if he wanted to fill the role that the Force had decreed for him, he had to at least attempt a resolution with this enigma that, like a Changeling, constantly morphed from the Anakin he thought he knew to a man that had never before existed.  
He floated on the verge of indecision, the minutes ticking by, as he stood on the observation platform above the hangar bay, watching Anakin and Artoo repair the skiff. Obi-Wan heard Anakin's noisy cackles even through the transparisteel sheets framing the platform and smiled in spite of himself. Then the young man hunkered down beneath the ship, Artoo disappearing within, and Obi-Wan let his feet carry him towards the turbolift before he lost his determination.

The door slid open with a soundless hiss of air, and the otherwise vacant hangar bay rang with metallic clangs and clinks as Anakin tinkered with the starboard engine. Obi-Wan drifted forward slowly, cautiously; his footsteps were scarcely audible even to his own ears, and paused a few feet from a long pair of legs stretched out on the floor. All other noise ceased – and the Jedi Master could almost feel the tension that tightened the muscles in the only visible part of Anakin's body. Obi-Wan drew in a short, quiet breath, willing his own body to relax, and remarked mildly, "I thought I might find you here."  
There was the briefest pause. "I noticed some problems with the starboard engine," Anakin's muffled voice floated out from underneath the ship. "I figured this was a good time to get those taken care of." The clinking sounds resumed, while Obi-Wan pondered his old friend's words. The comments were purely characteristic of Anakin – but he detected a faint undercurrent of repressed emotion hidden behind the words. If he could only reach out with the Force and… Obi-Wan broke away from that train of thought. He would just have to do this the hard way. For both of their sakes.  
He decided to try and keep the conversation on neutral ground for as long as possible. "What sort of problems have you found?" Obi-Wan asked in a placid, slightly curious tone, studying the dark spatters on the floor.  
Anakin shoved away from the skiff with a sharp sigh and sat upright, staring at Obi-Wan with ice-hard blue eyes. "Look, Obi-Wan –" He said the name so caustically, as if it meant nothing to him. "I know what you're trying to do, and I appreciate the effort – but I want you to know that it's not going to change anything between us." In one swift, unexpected movement he was on his feet, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. "You don't trust me. Maybe you never did. And I know that you have a very good reason not to trust me now, and I can live with that. A lot of things have changed for me in the past few days, and I can take the bad with the good – because the good is more than I ever dreamed possible."  
His eyes pierced Obi-Wan's answering gaze like a blade, and when he spoke again, his voice was a low, dangerous growl. "You were my best friend, Obi-Wan, and I need your help with keeping my family away from Sidious, but I _swear_ –" Anakin took one threatening step closer. "If you _ever_ speak to my wife that way again…Force or no Force…I will make sure that you regret it." He moved backwards just slightly, releasing a slow, deep breath, and the blazing fury faded from his glare – but his hard expression remained. "Do we understand each other?"

_This is going to be more difficult than I thought, _Obi-Wan mused inwardly, taking in Anakin's taut, angry stance and his unforgiving, uncompromising statements. Now he perceived the emotion that tinted every inflection of the young man's impassioned speech. Obi-Wan had no doubt that he meant every word – but that was not all there was to it. Anakin knew that their relationship had been severely damaged by his recent choices…but Obi-Wan would be a fool to deny that he did not play a role in its destruction, as well. Yet, rather than seek to make amends, Anakin was planning to break all bonds of friendship with his old Master – and it was not an issue of trust, as he had claimed.  
It was the fear of disappointment.  
If the bond between them was irreparable, and Anakin had allowed himself to hope that things could go back to the way they were…it would be far worse than simply cutting off the relationship.  
Obi-Wan refused to let Anakin give up so easily – he could hardly call himself a teacher if he did not push his student to reach beyond the pain and the fear toward greater heights.  
He straightened his spine and met the younger man's glacial stare unflinchingly. "No."  
Anakin blinked, confusion washing across his rigid features. "No?"  
"No, we do not understand each other. I have _never_ understood you, Anakin, and I suppose that I never will. But I will not let you take the easy way out this time. You have done that far too often, and it has weakened you."  
He waited for the statement to sink in – and when it did, Anakin's lips curled back over his teeth in a vicious snarl. "Who do you think –"

Obi-Wan gestured, pulling his fingers into a loose fist, and the furious words were abruptly cut off as the Force silenced Anakin's vocal chords. His hands flew to his throat, shock covering his face – which instantly turned into rage. A fist rose to slam into Obi-Wan's serene expression. Calmly prepared, the Jedi Master gestured again. Anakin found himself yanked backwards by an invisible hand, his feet knocked out from under him, and he slid across the glossy floor until his back was pressed against an oblong freight container. He wriggled around vainly, struggling to break free of the unseen restraints, and Obi-Wan strolled over to him like he had all the time in the world – an annoyingly composed manner that drove Anakin crazy. He knew that he couldn't fight back – not without the Force – so Anakin grew limp in the grasp of Obi-Wan's mental command and glowered up at the Jedi Master from the dark shadows under his lowered brow.  
As he neared, Anakin realized that his old Master's face was not as composed as his body language. Obi-Wan was coldly furious; his jaw was clenched tight, and the blue-grey color of his eyes was swirling with turbulence, like a storm at sea. He looked down at his one-time apprentice in silence for an indeterminate amount of time. Then he said quietly, "I apologize for having to rely on such theatrics – but I have some things to say to you, and you _will_ listen to me."  
The two men stared each other down as the minutes passed, and then Obi-Wan lowered himself onto the floor, folding his legs in a meditation pose and resting his arms on his bent knees. The older man sighed, and it was the long-suffering sigh of a father or an older brother when confronted with the impetuous behavior of a son or sibling. "As always, you rushed to a conclusion that had no standing in the conversation, without bothering to consider its numerous possibilities." Anakin opened his mouth to retort, but no sound came out. He snapped it closed angrily, his teeth clicking together. Obi-Wan continued as if nothing had happened. "When I said that your choices have weakened you, I meant that it has weakened your _spirit_, Anakin – your indomitable will to succeed and overcome any and all obstacles in your way. The quick and easy path has no enduring benefits, no matter what the outcome. How many times have I told you? _'The end never justifies the means'_, remember? The hardest struggles in life most often reap the most valuable rewards." He leaned forward, the anger in his gaze softening. "You think that this is difficult for you alone? You think that I can sit here, looking at you, and not see flashes of the Temple's security recording? Or the man who promised to kill me?"

Anakin looked aside, the defiant lift of his chin falling in shame. Obi-Wan waited until he glanced back at him before continuing. "And I feel that I must contradict you on a few key points. The first being this: I have always trusted you. Always. Even when you had proven yourself untrustworthy by consummating a relationship with the woman you love, and then lying to my face to conceal your feelings – I still trusted you with my life and the lives of every trooper under my command. But you are right – I have a very good reason not to trust you now. Yet I do." Anakin blinked a few times, taken aback. The Jedi Master nodded once, his tone full of earnestness and his features alight with emotions that Anakin did not allow himself to define. It would only hurt him in the end. "If I did not trust you, do you think that I would tolerate your presence on the same planet as Padmé and your children? If I considered you a threat to the future generation of Jedi – you, a newly christened Sith Lord – would they still be waiting for you five floors up from where we sit? No. And therein lies your answer."  
Obi-Wan paused here, inhaling deep, cleansing breaths and re-centering his mind. The prolonged use of the Force was beginning to take its toll on his healing psyche, but he had to hold it for a few moments longer. He felt a brief surge of gratitude for the wisdom that had encouraged him to speak to Padmé first about what had transpired in the conference room. His words might not have any affect on Anakin, but his wife was an altogether different story.  
Anakin was studying him with guarded, ambiguous cerulean orbs, and Obi-Wan said, "My next rebuttal is in response to your warning about your wife." As he had expected, the young man immediately stiffened, unconsciously straining against the Force-grip. "I spoke to Padmé yesterday. And do you know what she did? She forgave me. Despite the hurtful words that I will regret for the rest of my life, she forgave me." He shook his head, marveling yet again at the beautiful nature of Padmé Amidala. "She said to me, _'I cannot regret the decision that has given my life meaning'._ Do you know what she was referring to? Her marriage to you. _You,_ Anakin. How can I _not_ honor and protect the happiness of such a woman?"  
Anakin swallowed hard, the back of his throat burning, and he looked at his old friend with blurred vision. Nothing he had done in his entire existence had ever made him worthy of Padmé's love – and yet she gave it to him freely, and accepted his desperate adoration with gentle grace.  
And her great heart, a heart that was capable of encompassing the universe, had compelled her to forgive Obi-Wan. He should have expected nothing less from an angel.

Hope was beginning to take root in the barren soil of his heart; its tender green shoots springing forth and twining around the shattered remains of what had once been. Obi-Wan could see it, like a subtle glow in the depths of Anakin's indigo irises, and he sought to fan the flame. "So, here is where we stand: I trust you, I care about you, and I will do all I can to ensure the safety and well-being of your family." His next words ached within his chest, begging to be released, and the glow of hope in Anakin's gaze brightened as Obi-Wan murmured, "And I forgive you, Anakin. It does not erase the scars that have yet to heal, or undo the damage that has been done…but it is a place to start."  
A solitary teardrop escaped the corner of one brilliant blue eye, and Obi-Wan cleared his throat awkwardly to hide the lump he felt there. "I also must tell you that I was mistaken, about you and Padmé. You may have gone about it all wrong…but the two of you belong together. What you have has made you stronger, and I would not trade that for all the world." He waved a hand, and the pressure caging Anakin fell away, though his posture did not change. Hesitantly, Obi-Wan laid his palm on Anakin's shoulder, and felt immense relief when he did not shrug away. "I have always thought of you as a brother, though I constantly denied it because of the Code –" He smiled wryly as Anakin rolled his eyes, "– and I ask for your forgiveness, and for the privilege of safeguarding the children of the Chosen One."  
He dropped his hand from Anakin's shoulder, and held it out in the universal gesture of reconciliation.  
Anakin glanced at his outstretched hand, then at his expression, and he seemed to be measuring Obi-Wan with his eyes, searching for something. Holding his former mentor's gaze, he pulled off the glove covering his right hand and clasped Obi-Wan's forearm.

"Oomph!"  
The Jedi Master suddenly found himself locked in a fierce bear hug, and Anakin declared fervently, "You don't even have to ask, Master."  
"Need – to – breathe –"  
Anakin broke away, looking sheepish while Obi-Wan straightened his clothes with dignified disapproval. "Sorry," he mumbled, fighting a grin.  
Obi-Wan looked at him sternly. "What have I told you about rash displays of emotion?"  
Anakin chuckled once, incredulously. "_You're_ the one who used the Force to shut me up!"  
"That was a necessary precaution."  
"Well, mine was a diplomatic solution." Anakin shrugged, and then laced his fingers behind his head, the picture of casual nonchalance. "If I hadn't hugged you, we'd probably be wrestling on the floor."  
They glared at one another – Anakin was unapologetic, and Obi-Wan maintained a severe scowl – for all of two seconds. Then they were laughing in concert, these brothers who had been torn apart by betrayal and stitched back together by fate – and were now on the path to becoming more powerful together than they had ever been alone.  
Still chuckling under his breath, Anakin pushed himself to his feet. "I'd better get back to work – there's not much time left, and I want to be with Padmé when they arrive."  
Obi-Wan followed suit, and remarked, "Would you like some assistance?"

Anakin stared at him in amazement. _"You?"  
_"I'll have you know that I am quite a good mechanic, when the occasion calls for it," Obi-Wan sniffed, slightly offended by his friend's disbelief.  
"I just never thought you would do something like repair a ship's engine."  
"You would be surprised what you can do when you put your mind to it. Besides," Obi-Wan retrieved the hydrospanner from the floor and twirled it in his hand, "I happen to know the best mechanic in the galaxy, and I picked up a few tricks."  
Anakin smiled at him warmly. "Thanks, Master."  
An eyebrow rose sardonically over one twinkling blue-grey eye. "I meant Artoo, of course."  
Anakin groaned loudly, and the light-hearted banter continued as they made their way back to the skiff, the hangar bay echoing with their merriment.  
High above, on the observation platform, a short, shadowy figure watched the two brothers for another moment, and then nodded with satisfaction. He vanished from view as he entered the turbolift for the upper levels, the soft tapping of his cane disguised by the noises drifting from below.

------------

Threepio finished unpacking the satchel of belongings that had been stashed under the hospital bed and looked over at his mistress. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Milady?"  
Padmé looked up from her newborn son's contented face as he ate and gave the loyal droid a soft smile. "Thank you, Threepio. I need your assistance with one more thing." Luke was nearly done, so Padmé reoriented his tiny body and gently rubbed his back. A quiet burp soon followed, and she nuzzled her cheek against Luke's downy head. "Excuse you," she joked affectionately, and then laid her son in the crib beside his sister, rearranging their blankets and touching their noses with a fingertip.  
Taking a deep breath, Padmé gripped both armrests on each side of her chair and slowly pushed herself upright, cringing at the pain in her abdomen. Once she was certain that she had regained her balance, she shuffled over to the bed, examining the garments laid out with pursed lips. Padmé had no intention of greeting their guests wearing a well-used hospital gown – but she noted with a twinge of dismay that her choices were somewhat limited.  
A pair of doe-brown pants, a fitted, cocoa-colored jacket with cream piping on the sleeves and high neck – stylized to look almost military, the navy dress she had worn a few days ago, and she had thankfully grabbed her discarded dressing gown – which was sophisticated enough for her purposes at the moment and would be far easier to don than anything else. She picked up the fluffy, embroidered robe and held it out to Threepio. "Could you hold this for me, please?"  
The golden protocol droid accepted the garment, inquiring nervously, "Milady, are you entirely certain that you should be changing clothing on your own while recovering from labor?"  
Padmé paused from twisting her arms out of the hospital gown to grin widely at Threepio. "But I'm not on my own, Threepio – you're helping me."

She yanked the white fabric over her head as Threepio mumbled, "I don't think this qualifies as 'helping', Miss Padmé." She laughed, slipping on the satin and lace underdress, and sighed at the feel of the silky fabric on her skin. Threepio held the robe open for her, and it settled around her lithe shoulders effortlessly, wrapping her aching body in warmth and comfort. Padmé fastened the clasp above her breastbone and adjusted the sleeves, walking over to the small mirror in the refresher. "Better," she declared upon glimpsing her reflection. Her hair was still a riotous mass of chestnut ringlets, but she was running out of energy fast. Combing her fingers through the curls, she pulled her hair to one side and let it drape over her right shoulder. The sparkling chain of the japor pendant glittered beneath the collar of her robe, so she pulled it out from its hiding place – no longer a secret – and let the carved ornament have precedence on her outfit. She smiled brightly at the woman in the mirror, recognizing her for the first time in nearly a week. "Much better."  
Feeling a bit lightheaded from standing so long, Padmé returned to her chair and sat down, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. Familiar scuffling footsteps neared, and the smell of baked bread assailed her nostrils. Her stomach growled involuntarily as Threepio asked, "Would you care for some refreshment, Milady? The tray arrived while you were resting, so I kept it on a warmer for you." Her eyes opened to an impressive array of food for a MedCenter. A small loaf of dark bread caught her immediate attention, and she promptly tore off a piece, popping it in her mouth. There was also a bowl of yellow broth overflowing with assortments of bright-colored vegetables and a cup of some steaming liquid.  
Padmé lifted the cup, experimentally raising it to her lips for a taste – when she deciphered the scent. She looked up at Threepio in utter surprise. "Caria tea?" The plant from which the tea was brewed was native only to Naboo, and she found it highly doubtful that the Polis Massa MedCenter had some of its sweet green leaves in storage.

Though his facial expressions were unable to change, Threepio managed to sound pleased as he replied, "Yes, well…I do know that caria tea is your favorite beverage of late, Miss Padmé. I located some in the galley on the skiff and thought you might enjoy it with your meal."  
Padmé felt a rush of affection for the prim, proper droid that was her near-constant companion. "Thank you, Threepio," she said with profound sincerity, "That was very thoughtful." Threepio bustled about the room, tidying here and there, and Padmé savored each sip of tea while chewing bits of bread and swallowing tiny mouthfuls of soup. Every so often she glanced at the two little miracles occupying the crib beside her, as if assuring herself that they had not disappeared. It then occurred to her that there had been only one tray of food, when the med droid usually brought two – one for her and one for Anakin.  
"Has Anakin been here at all, Threepio?"  
"Why, no, Milady – I have not seen Master Anakin for some time."  
Padmé nodded thoughtfully. Ani had eaten before he had left on his quest to repair the ship, but his appetite was as ferocious as a wild nexu, and he had not eaten nearly enough for lunch to soothe the savage beast. "What time is it?" she asked.  
Threepio paused for a brief second. "It is just after 0500 Galactic Standard Time, Milady."  
Her eyebrows rose in mild surprise. She had not realized that several hours had passed since Anakin had headed to the hangar bay with Artoo. "I guess the skiff really _did _need repairing…" she mused quietly, swirling the honey-colored tea in her cup.  
The door chimed, and Threepio shuffled towards it, remarking in his typical fashion, "Perhaps that is Master Anakin, now." Padmé rolled her eyes, deciding not to comment. If that were Anakin, he would not use the door chime. He had had his fill of that shortly after they were married, and frankly, she was sick of the pretense – pretending that Anakin was merely a friend and not her husband.

It was not Anakin. "Milady," Administrator Tuun bowed over the threshold, and Threepio moved aside so that he could enter. "Your guests have arrived in-system and will be landing within the hour. Would you care to greet them in the hangar bay, or wait in the conference room?"  
Padmé's brown eyes lit up, but then she bit her lower lip, glancing worriedly at the sleeping twins. "MW-001 and MD-02 will take very good care of your younglings, Milady," Tuun assured her.  
"Could you bring them to the conference room, please?" Tuun nodded in agreement to her request, and Padmé prepared to stand, gritting her teeth. In the blink of an eye, the Administrator was there, holding her elbow and guiding her towards the hoverchair. She settled into it comfortably, secretly wishing for the day when she would not have to use the stupid thing anymore, and looked at Tuun.  
He responded to the question in her eyes. "Anakin will be waiting for us at the turbolift in the north wing; we are sending your friends to dock in a separate hangar. Master Yoda seemed to think that the utmost confidentiality would be a prudent course of action." Padmé inclined her head, but thought that Yoda's fears were unfounded.  
MW-001 and MD-02 floated into the room, ready to perform their duties, while Padmé kissed Luke and Leia good-bye. Threepio volunteered to remain behind, and shortly afterwards Administrator Tuun was walking with her down the hall. Padmé resisted the strong urge to look back – she did not want to turn into an overprotective mother – and the twins would be perfectly safe with Threepio and the other med droids.

The northern turbolift was situated at a three-way intersection of corridors that were populated by a few med droids and the rare Polis Massan. As they approached, Padmé heard rapid footfalls from the hallway to her left and glanced sideways, a wide smile on her face.  
Anakin's damp hair shone bronze in the fluorescent lights, his dark Jedi tunic and pants fitting snugly to his muscular frame. He skidded to a halt in front of Padmé, placing a hand on each side of her hoverchair and leaning over her with smoldering blue eyes. "Hi," he said softly. Padmé tilted her chin upwards, and he gave her a brief, sweet kiss. Straightening, he nodded a greeting at the Administrator, but his attention was immediately diverted back to his wife.  
She was looking around his arm, lips parting in astonishment.  
He followed her stare with a chuckle. "Obi-Wan volunteered to give me a hand with repairs."  
Obi-Wan stood just beyond the form of his old apprentice, a dryly humorous expression on his bearded face. "I had no idea that it would be so…involved. Anakin is quite dominating when it comes to machinery." He folded his arms across his chest. "I may not be so quick to lend a hand next time."  
"Oh, come on, Master – you had fun. Admit it."  
Padmé listened to their easy banter like it was the most beautiful music she had ever heard. Her heart swelled inside her ribcage, and she felt trickles of moisture on her cheeks. She sniffed quietly, but he heard her. His large, calloused hands cradled her face with extreme tenderness, and his thumbs brushed away the tears. "Are you all right?" he whispered. Padmé nodded, not trusting herself to speak just yet, and her gaze darted between Anakin and Obi-Wan.  
The Jedi Master's soft eyes were brimming with gratitude, a gentle smile curving his mouth, and Padmé let out a breathless laugh. "I'm fine, Ani. I'm just…happy." She wiped at her eyes, composing herself, and then smiled radiantly. "We'd better get a move on," she suggested, and the four of them filed into the turbolift.

------------

The ride down to the delivery hangar bay was brief; the turbolift doors slid open to reveal a long, narrow hallway lined with panes of gleaming silver chromium. Administrator Tuun departed first, and the three friends followed – Padmé studying the walls curiously and Obi-Wan immersed his consciousness in the Force while Anakin asked the Administrator a barrage of questions about their surroundings. The hall curved slightly to the left, and one whole wall was replaced with a single, large sheet of transparisteel, overlooking the hangar. Padmé's hoverchair came to a stop, and she stared at the view in awe. The cavernous hangar bay housed several smaller transports, a Corellian escort frigate, and row upon row of freight containers that appeared to vanish into the darkness on the far side of the bay. A sizeable space was left empty in the center of the hangar for the new arrivals, so there was a clear view of the shimmering violet force field that sealed off the bay from the airless vacuum of space.  
"Not what you were expecting from a small Outer Rim colony – is it, Senator?" Tuun asked wryly, with no hint of rudeness or sarcasm.  
Padmé slowly shook her head back and forth. "Your facilities are truly amazing, Administrator."  
A loud, sonorous klaxon rang throughout the corridor, and Padmé jumped, startled. Administrator Tuun motioned with one long-fingered hand. "There is a ship arriving into the bay. The hangar control room is just down the hall – if you will follow me…" Obi-Wan was on his heels immediately, while Anakin kept pace with Padmé, reaching for her hand as they followed a few feet behind.  
She could feel his ice-hot blue eyes on her face as he questioned, "Are you sure that you want to do this? What if they say no? What if they couldn't find her?"  
Padmé looked up at him serenely, with no trace of apprehension in her warm brown gaze. "I can't dwell on the what ifs, Ani. All I can do is ask them and pray that they will understand." A smile graced her full, pink lips. "But I will be glad to see them all again, regardless."  
Anakin looked at her for a moment, and then nodded. Tugging lightly on her hand, the pair halted beside Obi-Wan as he faced the control room's computer terminals, waiting for the docking procedures to be completed. A deep metallic thrum echoed in the crowded space, and the Polis Massan controller depressed a sequence of buttons in quick succession.

Tuun glanced sideways, his inky black orbs fixed on Padmé. "You may go down now, if you wish." He indicated a grey door in the far corner, but both Anakin and Obi-Wan waited for Padmé to precede them, as she was now in charge of their situation.  
She slipped her fingers from Anakin's grasp and moved towards the Administrator, offering him her hands. He clasped them warmly, and she spoke in the regal, dignified manner of a former Queen. "I can never thank you enough for all you have done for us. You are a true friend, Maneeli Tuun. Thank you."  
Tuun bowed low over her hands, resting his forehead briefly against them. When he straightened, he said, "It is the least I can do for a woman of your stature, Milady – and for the Jedi." At this, he released her hands and bowed to both Anakin and Obi-Wan. "You may use this facility for as long as you have need, and I wish you every success as you meet with your guests."  
The Administrator departed to resume his usual duties, and Padmé directed the hoverchair to the door. It opened to a smaller turbolift, and the three of them managed to squeeze in together and head down to the bay's ground floor. She led the way into the massive hangar, filled with the echoes of cooling hyperdrive engines and hissing repulsors as they were shut down. Anakin and Obi-Wan flanked each side of her hoverchair like bodyguards – a position they had filled not so long ago – and suddenly her husband let out a low gasp. "What is _that?"_ he breathed, blue eyes wide with wonder.  
Two ships now occupied the central part of the hangar, and both gleamed with a newness that was both beautiful and intimidating. Obi-Wan identified the vessel closest to them as a JM-5K – a model that had been out of commission for some time now, at least in more conventional circles. But judging from the mounted turbolaser turret, missile launcher, and a variety of obvious modifications – this was no ordinary JM-5K. But the other ship had him baffled as well.

Its hull was a brushed metal that gleamed faintly blue in the bay's lights, and the upper body was plated with chrome with an unfamiliar symbol etched over the cockpit bubble. The elongated wings on each side of the ovular cockpit gave the ship the appearance of a bird in flight – a bird that was armed to the teeth with twin dorsal guns, turrets on each wing tip, and the sleek lines of a vessel that was capable of moving at extremely high speeds when needed. Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed in concentration. The symbol was vaguely familiar, yet he could not place it within his memory. Anakin took a half-step closer, his palms practically itching for the controls of such a striking piece of machinery.  
"What is it?" he asked again, his stare never settling on one place for too long as he tried to absorb every detail. "Obi-Wan?"  
The Jedi Master shook his head. "I've never seen one before. It is quite impressive."  
_"That_, gentlemen, is a Hapan Stingray."  
Anakin's head whipped around in shock, and Obi-Wan just looked at Padmé blankly. There was a peculiar gleam in her dark eyes as her attention drifted from the ship to her husband's open-mouthed expression. "Hapan?" he stammered, "As in the Hapes Consortium?"  
Padmé nodded. Obi-Wan's features cleared with understanding – and then darkened as he recalled certain facts about the Hapan monarchy. "You have ties to the Consortium?" he asked in a low voice.  
Padmé discerned the implications in his question and replied coolly, "Ta'a Chume and I were…loosely affiliated during my time as Queen. It was merely the civil associations of two monarchs.  
I was only fourteen at the time, seeking to improve my diplomatic relations with the Republic's neighboring systems – and it was a very odd experience. I had the distinct impression that the Queen Mother considered me to be beneath her interest, as I was an elected ruler and she was royal by blood. But she had seemed grudgingly impressed by me, and it was most likely because women primarily control the Consortium.  
I visited the Fountain Palace a handful of times, but she never accepted my invitation to stay on Naboo." Her mouth twisted in a humorless smirk. "I think it may have had something to do with the fact that my thoughts on the Jedi Order were _vastly_ different from hers. She had been quite scandalized to learn that the Jedi had aided me in reclaiming my planet from the Trade Federation." Her smirk widened gleefully. "I wonder how she would react if she knew that I was married to one."

"But…why would she give you a vessel?" Anakin was struggling to keep up, processing this new information about the mystery of Padmé Amidala.  
"I honestly have no idea," Padmé shrugged one shoulder. "I have not actively spoken to Ta'a Chume since I became Naboo's Senator. The gesture is totally uncharacteristic of her." She ticked off her suggestions on her fingers. "It's either a show of goodwill, the product of an ulterior motive, or it was stolen." She and Obi-Wan exchanged a wary glance. The Emperor had already recruited every sentient citizen of the Empire to aid in her recovery; they did not need the added threat of the Hapans.  
A quick gust of air fizzled around the lower section of the Stingray, and a short boarding ramp lowered towards the hangar bay's glossy floor. Padmé began to struggle to her feet, muttering, "Help me, Ani."  
He responded immediately – wrapping one arm snugly around her waist and taking her hand with the other. "Are you sure you should be standing up?" he worried.  
She tossed him a confident grin and squeezed his hand. "I won't overdo it. I just don't want them to worry about me – at least not yet."  
Anakin still looked at her doubtfully, his piercing blue eyes glowing within the shadows cast upon his handsome face. His fingers curled lightly around her waist, and the warm, solid strength of his arm on her lower back was a welcome sensation. Yet she kept her smile in place and stated, "You can let me go, Ani. I'm fine – really." He loosened his hold with great reluctance, but kept her small hand tucked firmly in his, offering a crooked half-smile.  
With an audible thump, the ramp was fully extended, and a slender figure appeared – quick, light footsteps echoed as a woman with long brown hair pulled haphazardly into a low bun flew across the distance between them, a joyful smile illuminating her expression as she flung her arms open wide. "Padmé!" She fairly tackled the other woman, pulling her into a fierce embrace, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. "Oh, Padmé! I can't believe – I'm so – " she seemed incapable of finishing a coherent sentence.

Padmé felt salt water spring into her own eyes as she held her friend close, and murmured soothingly, "I've missed you, Dormé."  
Her former handmaiden pulled back slightly, holding her by the shoulders. Dormé's gentle brown eyes studied Padmé with the same perceptiveness that she remembered well. "You seem different. Almost…happier, somehow – more settled."  
"I will explain everything soon, Dormé, but I want to address everyone at once. It's a long story." Two figures departing the ship caught Padmé's attention over Dormé's shoulder, and her expression lit up. The approaching pair of women had dark hair and eyes, just like Dormé – but that was where the similarities ended. One was built like a dancer, lithe and graceful, but her expression was hooded and bland as she neared the group. The other was olive-skinned and exotically beautiful – a patient smile curved her full mouth, and the spark of intelligence glittered in her deep brown eyes.  
She reached Padmé first, and Dormé moved aside so that she could hug the Senator. "Rabé," Padmé greeted, "I'm so glad you came. Thank you."  
Rabé's reserved smile widened slightly. "I would not miss this for the world, Milady," she announced, her tone filling the words with the melodic inflection characteristic of those who lived in Naboo's southern hemisphere. She shot a dark look at her companion as she stood silently at her elbow, watching Padmé expressionlessly.  
Ever the diplomat, Padmé ignored the chill in the atmosphere and reached for the other woman's hands. She took them limply, the flat mask covering her face cracking just visibly. "Yané," Padmé said with genuine affection, "I know that to be here is a great sacrifice for you. Know that I am deeply grateful that you have come – it means more to me than I can say." She held her gaze for some time, until Yané's lifeless chocolate orbs glistened with emotion, and her lower lip began to tremble.  
She allowed Padmé to enfold her in her arms, clinging to her with the dependency of a younger sister while Padmé rubbed her back tenderly. When they broke apart, the mask was back in place, and Yané was coolly in control – but her voice reverberated with sincerity as she replied, "It would be much harder for me to ignore your need than for me to ignore my own." She bowed slightly and stepped away respectfully. Anakin's keen stare did not miss the guarded, speculative glare that Rabé gave Yané, and determined in his mind to ask his wife about their conversation later.

Padmé looked at each of them, a soft smile bowing her lips, and she asked a question to no one in particular, "How did you manage to acquire a Hapan Stingray?"  
Dormé spoke up. "I was on assignment in the Consortium when I received your message. I was not due for departure for three more days, and I needed a ship. I approached the Lady Elanna – the woman with whom I was meeting – and asked her if there was any available transport that could get me into Republic space in a hurry." She swept an open hand towards the blue-and-chrome ship. "She gave me the Stingray."  
Padmé blinked at her old friend, surprised that the normally unpretentious Dormé had taken such drastic steps in the middle of an assignment to answer her summons. "What did you tell her?" she asked.  
"That a very urgent matter had arisen and my presence was required immediately."  
Padmé crossed her arms over her chest. "She had to have asked for more information than that," she remarked skeptically.  
"Oh, she did…" Dormé's expression lit up with an angelic smile, "And I told her that it was highly classified. Then she gave me the ship and sent me on my way."  
Padmé made a small noise of assent in the back of her throat. Of course, any Hapan noble would assume that anything highly classified meant danger to the crown. Deception and subterfuge was the lifeblood of the Hapan Royal Court. Obviously, Lady Elanna did not have a competent grasp on Naboo's internal affairs.  
"I knew that Rabé was on assignment also, so I collected her from – from where she was working," Dormé amended hastily at the fierce glower Rabé shot in her direction. Padmé kept her features politely interested, though her dark eyes blazed with curiosity. She knew that her handmaidens, after serving with her for years, had taken on side jobs for Naboo's dignitaries and from outside contractors. For some unknown reason, Rabé did not want anyone to know where she had been on her last assignment.  
Dormé continued, "Together, we headed for Naboo to pick up Yané – but she wasn't there." Instead of continuing, Dormé's eyes flashed to Yané, wordlessly questioning. The taller woman nodded once. "We found out from her family that she was staying with friends on Telos, so we altered our course."

Yané inserted quietly, "Once on board, I attempted to contact Moteé, knowing that it would be a challenge to get her and Ellé out of Coruscant – given the present climate – " Her gaze flickered unwillingly to the pair of Jedi standing to the side. "But we received an all clear from her not ten minutes from my first transmission. Someone had already extracted them from the capital, and they were en-route to the rendezvous point."  
Seeing the query lurking inside Padmé's stare, Dormé then supplied, "In your initial message, you had asked me to try and locate her, but I was unsure if I would be successful."  
"Were you?" Padmé was avid with excitement, eyebrows arched high on her forehead.  
The trio of women all laughed in unison at some hidden amusement. "I didn't have to do anything," Dormé chuckled, "She contacted me – after she had picked up Moteé and Ellé from Coruscant. She said that she had gotten a coded transmission over a private frequency that you and she had chosen during your time as Queen." The sudden hiss of depressurized air interrupted Dormé's explanation, and she glanced over her shoulder with a smile. "I'll let her tell you the rest."  
She, Rabé, and Yané unfolded from the loose semicircle they had formed around Padmé to fan out on either side of the former Queen, waiting for the JM-5K's occupants to disembark.  
Anakin recognized the first face that appeared at the bottom of the landing ramp. Ellé had served as Padmé's handmaiden along with Moteé for the duration of their marriage, and he had found her to be completely trustworthy, even though she was considerably younger than her counterpart. At nineteen standard years old, Anakin had at first been reluctant to share their most dangerous and treasured secret with a handmaiden that was barely an adult. Of course, Padmé – a teasing gleam in her velvety brown eyes – had reminded him that he had not been much older when they had married…and he had afterwards learned to keep his mouth shut.  
But his concerns proved unnecessary; Ellé was very skilled in the areas of protocol and the physical classifications required for the bodyguard of a Galactic Senator, and her youthful kindness to Padmé had finally convinced him that his precious wife was safe under her care.

Ellé's attractive, heart-shaped face was consumed by a brilliant grin as she fairly sprinted towards Padmé. She skidded to a halt just in time, breathless and eager, and executed a brief curtsey. "Milady," she greeted respectfully, "I'm so glad that you are safe."  
A low chuckle sounded from Padmé's throat, and she lightly grasped Ellé's shoulders, pulling the young woman into an embrace. "You can dispense with protocol for once, Ellé. I was so worried about you and Moteé." She pulled back slightly, looking into her friend's eyes. They were lighter than any of the others' – a tawny gold shade that seemed to glow and reflect her emotions. Ellé shrugged minutely, her gaze sliding sideways to the people congregating around Padmé…and then she froze.  
Padmé watched the color drain from her cheeks and her ocher eyes widen in shock, and she turned to see what had disturbed her. Anakin stared back at Ellé, a confused frown crinkling his forehead. The slow tide of understanding swelled within Padmé's mind. "No, he is not dead, Ellé," she announced softly. Anakin's expression cleared as he heard her words, and Ellé's incredulous stare swung back to Padmé. "No one else knows – and we intend to keep it that way for as long as possible. Can I count on you?" She met the young woman's eyes unwaveringly, falling momentarily into the carefully maintained persona of Senator Amidala. Ellé instantly detected the note of authority in Padmé's tone and adjusted her expression, nodding once.  
She withdrew from Padmé, and everyone looked on with speculation as she walked towards Anakin.  
She stood in silence for a moment, studying him with an inscrutable gaze. And then, to his intense surprise, Ellé threw her arms around him in a swift, awkward hug. "I'm glad that you're not dead, Master Skywalker." She backed away at once, glancing worriedly at Padmé, afraid that she had breached a personal boundary – but Padmé merely offered her a warm smile. Her tense posture relaxed, and she spun when footsteps echoed from the boarding ramp. "Moteé, look! He's not dead!"  
Moteé descended the ramp at a more leisurely pace than her colleague – but there was no mistaking the profound relief on her elegant features as she approached the group clustered in the hangar. Instead of reaching for a hug, Padmé took Moteé's hands in hers and held them tightly, noticing with a twinge of apprehension that she was still garbed in the purple gown she had worn to the Senate days ago. "How bad has it been?" Padmé asked in a low voice.

"Nothing unmanageable." Moteé was as cool and solemn as always – but Padmé caught a flicker of pain, hidden deep within her friend's large brown eyes. "An Imperial commander…_escorted_ Ellé and I to the Central Intelligence Office while you were speaking to Captain Typho, and we were held there for several hours before questioning began. We followed security procedure throughout the interrogation, and after the blackout we were released to return to Five Hundred Republica – under the direct order to remain planetside, of course." Her gaze shifted to Anakin. "Emperor Palpatine made the official announcement that Anakin Skywalker had been killed while fighting against Jedi insurgents – his brethren that had fallen away from their true mission to serve the Republic –" Anakin's right hand bunched convulsively into a fist at these words, "– and we began to worry."  
"We didn't know what to do," Ellé spoke up, the skin between her eyebrows puckered with unease. "The apartment was nearly destroyed, and there was no evidence of where you had gone. And then we heard the report of your abduction."  
Moteé's eyes closed in anguish. "We thought we had failed you," she whispered. Padmé squeezed her hands comfortingly. The handmaiden's eyes opened, and she continued in a lighter tone, "When we received your message, I thought it might be a trick. But Ellé," she tossed a glare that was half-exasperated, half-amused at the younger woman, "was certain that it was you, asking for our help."  
"But we had no way to get to you – and Moteé confirmed that we were being watched by clone troopers." Ellé's shoulders slumped with remembered dismay. "It seemed hopeless."  
"And then she came." The hint of a smile played along the edges of Moteé's serious mouth. "Practically out of nowhere – and she knew the code phrase to prove that she was a legitimate ally."  
"I always knew how to make an entrance."

------------

Eight pairs of eyes darted towards the speaker. A slender woman stood at the base of the ramp, hands on her hips – perched just above the handles of twin blaster pistols slung low on her belt.Garnet-colored pants that clung to the shape of her legs were tucked into knee-high black boots, and a short-sleeved ebony spacer's jacket hung open over an ivory synthskin shirt. The sleeves ended just below the elbow, but Anakin glimpsed the dark ink of some type of tattoo on her forearm. A tail of braided brown hair, lightened to a deep honey color by radiation, trailed from the nape of her neck to her waist, but her face was unmistakably familiar.  
It was the face of his wife.  
The woman strolled towards them, one eyebrow raised mockingly at their speechless behavior. Spreading her arms in an inviting gesture, she remarked with a smirk, "Well? Don't I get a hello?"  
Padmé was positively elated. With a smile that threatened to split her cheeks, she broke away from the others to stand before the newcomer. "Sabé."  
The two women reached for one another simultaneously – embracing like sisters that had not been together for a very long time. Padmé was crying softly, and tears soundlessly escaped from beneath Sabé's closed eyelids as she held her friend close. They remained that way for some time, until Padmé sniffled and pulled away slightly. She said tremulously, "I've missed you so much."  
Sabé's expression softened. "Me, too. I've been so bored."  
Padmé laughed, wiping the traces of moisture from her eyes, and teased, "I find it hard to believe that you of all people would be bored – especially considering all the grand schemes you had up your sleeve when you were finished being my decoy."  
"And I carried out every one of them," Sabé retorted, "But it's been hard to top the amount of trouble and adventure that impersonating you had." She rubbed her hands together gleefully. "I'm looking forward to a new challenge."  
Padmé shook her head indulgently. Sabé had always acted so cavalier towards the danger surrounding a Queen's Royal Decoy – but she had been so good at her job that even Padmé had ceased to worry that her dear friend could be killed in her stead.

"So what have you been up to?" Padmé asked, eying Sabé's outfit – and armaments – with intrigue.  
Sabé's almond-shaped brown eyes sparkled as she replied slyly, "Oh, this and that." She flipped her braided tresses over a shoulder. "My latest venture led me to Kuat, which was fortunate for me and your girls here," she nodded in the general direction of Moteé and Ellé. "I happened to be wandering through the Drive Yards, and I found _her_." Sabé turned dramatically towards the JM-5K, her voice ringing with pride as she said, "Isn't she beautiful?" It was clearly a rhetorical question, as she immediately went on. "I call her the _Aiwha_. It suits her, and it reminds me of home – all that time we spent swimming behind the waterfalls in the summer." She grinned at Padmé, but the expression faded as she read the wary puzzlement in her old friend's gaze.  
"Sabé…" Padmé began slowly, cautiously, "The Kuat Drive Yards manufacture cruisers and large transports for military use. JM-5Ks would not be available there for consumer use."  
"Well – yes, that's true." Sabé looked aside, avoiding Padmé's eyes as she tucked a strand of loose hair behind an ear. "I didn't exactly find the ship along the 'beaten path', as it were. But you have to understand – she was just sitting there, and I knew that she would just turn to rust from all the fumes coming from the factories. It seemed like such a waste." Padmé's only response was to cross her arms and raise an eyebrow. "I needed a ship!" Sabé went on the defensive, gesticulating wildly with her hands as she attempted to explain herself. "I had just gotten your message, and I knew that this ship had what I needed to get where I was going in a hurry – plus I was fairly certain that it would have several illegal modifications, and that was a definite bonus since I had no idea what kind of trouble you were in, so…" She trailed off, hands falling uselessly to her sides. Padmé continued to stare at her expectantly. Finally, Sabé sighed in defeat. "All right, fine. I stole it from the Impound Dock," she muttered.

Padmé felt her jaw drop in disbelief. The Kuat Drive Yards was one of the most protected areas in the galaxy; there was a saying among spice smugglers that once your ship was impounded at Kuat – it was like plotting a course straight into a black hole. "How?" she choked out.  
The contrite pout on Sabé's face vanished, and she looked pleased that she was not being reprimanded for obtaining stolen property. "The _Aiwha_ is equipped with an EMP shroud – a prototype from Mechis III that the ship's previous owner had installed. It emits an electromagnetic pulse that ripples constantly across the ship's hull, blocking radar and sensors from almost a parsec away. All I had to do was hide in Kuat's shadow until a carrier cruiser left orbit – piggybacked on their ionic wake, and –" She snapped her fingers, beaming with victory.  
Anakin was grudgingly impressed. His own skills as a pilot were far above the norm, but he would never have considered stealing a ship from the Kuat Drive Yards – even with the Force as his ally. Sabé was either incredibly gifted, extremely lucky, or absurdly reckless.  
Judging by the zealous light in her dark eyes as she recalled her tale, Anakin would bet credits on the latter.  
Looking over at his wife, whose disbelief was now tempered with traces of amusement and fondness, he wondered if Padmé's friendship with Sabé had helped prepare her for life with him. He had always felt that he had cornered the market on recklessness – but now he wasn't so sure. Padmé was hardly surprised by any of the stunts he pulled, and he had just assumed that it was because she understood him. He didn't doubt that. He just wondered if the reason that Padmé was no longer surprised by his behavior stemmed from her memories of the mirror image that was anything but predictable.

Sabé stared at Padmé, her eyebrows slanted upwards, and her brown eyes pleading as she said, "Do you forgive me?" She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.  
Padmé sighed, uncrossing her arms and shifting carefully out of her rigid stance. "Yes," she said, rolling her eyes. The muscles in her legs and lower abdomen were screaming in protest, and she was beginning to feel dizzy. She took Sabé's hand, tugging her towards the others. Her fingers twitched against the other woman's hand, and Sabé examined her face critically.  
"Are you all right?"  
Padmé shrugged. "I'm a little tired. I think I might have been standing for too long."  
Sabé pondered this for one second, and then she took Padmé's arm and draped it over her shoulders, looping her free arm around her waist and supporting most of Padmé's weight. They trudged forward, and Sabé assisted her as she sat in the previously vacated hoverchair. "Thank you," she murmured gratefully. From the corner of her eye, she saw Anakin straining towards her, blue eyes rounded by fear and held in place by Obi-Wan's hand on his broad shoulder.  
The former handmaidens had all congregated around her, surrounding her seated position protectively, their faces wearing almost identical expressions of concern. Padmé decided that perhaps now was the time for a more official welcoming. "Thank you all for coming. I trust that most of you know each other – but I am afraid that I have neglected to make introductions." She raised a hand, motioning towards Obi-Wan. The anxious circle around her widened to include him as he stepped forward. "This is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Despite what you may have heard on the HoloNet, he is not my abductor. You may remember him as the Jedi Padawan with Master Qui-Gon Jinn that aided us during the blockade crisis." Obi-Wan bowed formally to the group.  
Ellé, ever vocal and compassionate, spoke up sadly, "You have my deepest sympathies, Master Kenobi, for the loss of your brethren in the Jedi Temple."  
Obi-Wan turned towards her, the pain in his eyes clearly visible even as he smiled gently. "Thank you, Ellé."

Anakin was practically exploding with impatience. Though he had not been called, he stepped forward, standing beside Obi-Wan. Recognition flashed in every handmaiden's eyes. Padmé's tone reflected her smile as she announced, "I expect he needs no introduction."  
Sabé tilted her head to the side, appraising him. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"  
"I do not understand," Rabé interjected, watching the two Jedi with narrowed eyes. "Why do you have wanted criminals as an escort, Milady?"  
Anakin opened his mouth, a biting retort on his tongue – but Padmé interrupted smoothly, "They are not criminals. They are my friends. Surely you do not believe the Emperor's lies, Rabé."  
"Of course not." Rabé seemed indignant at the inference. "The man's words are like feathers – no weight and full of fluff. I am only trying to see the logic in this action. Are they your bodyguards?"  
Padmé's eyes flickered to Anakin. "Something like that," she remarked evasively. "I will explain everything to all of you, once we are in more suitable quarters." She started to steer the hoverchair towards the exit of the hangar bay, when Sabé grabbed an armrest.  
"You're hiding something. Something that scares you." She read her friend's facial expression in a heartbeat. "You think you can't trust us?" she asked, incredulous.  
"I do!" Padmé insisted, her gaze darting to each familiar face, "I trust every one of you!"  
"Then tell us the real reason why there are two Jedi in this hangar, in an asteroid colony, in the middle of nowhere, with you." Sabé demanded.  
Padmé lifted frightened, pleading eyes to Obi-Wan, and then Anakin. The older man inclined his head, and Anakin wove his way through the group of women to his wife. Holding her gaze with his own, he silently mouthed, _"No more secrets."  
_She exhaled heavily, and reached for Anakin's left hand, interlacing their fingers. He stood beside her, tall and motionless, as she addressed her friends as a whole – holding their entwined hands against her chest, over her heart. "Anakin Skywalker is my husband. We've been secretly married for nearly four years. We came here so that I could give birth to our twins. And now we need your help to keep them safe." Padmé drew in a long breath, as though the truth had somehow freed her spirit from its self-imposed chains. "That's it," she concluded simply.

Six exquisitely beautiful faces watched them, each one displaying completely different emotions.  
Dormé was aglow with satisfaction. Rabé was utterly dumbfounded. Yané's jaw was tight, and she looked away from Anakin's curious stare. Moteé and Ellé, already privy to their relationship, were studying the others surreptitiously. And Sabé – she looked from Padmé to Anakin and back again, and shook her head. "Huh. Didn't see _that_ one coming."  
The shout of laughter erupting from the petite brunette sitting in the hoverchair made everyone jump with surprise. But Padmé's hysterical giggles were infectious; soon, the hangar bay was alive with the sounds of glee. Even Yané cracked a smile. Obi-Wan hid his chuckles behind a hand. Anakin bent down, warming her ear as he breathed, "You were right, Padmé. This is going to work." He kissed her flushed cheek, moistened by the tears streaming from the corners of her eyes.  
But they were not simply tears of mirth. They were tears of hope.  
_This will work._


	21. Stratagem

**Chapter Sixteen  
**_**Stratagem**_

It was by far the strangest meeting that had ever taken place in the MedCenter conference room.  
Instead of a contingent of Polis Massan doctors and medical droids, the room was entirely occupied by humans – and none of them could claim to be a doctor. They were arranged around one end of the oblong table dominating the center of the room, and each person's stance reflected some degree of contemplation or stress. The seven females shared numerous similarities in coloring and facial features, and at first glance, the pair of women seated side by side at the table's head were nearly identical.  
There were also two men within the group. One, a light-haired young man, sat close beside the woman with curly dark hair, cradling a small bundle of white. The other was a bearded, middle-aged man with wisdom in his expression and the bearing of a warrior. He remained apart from the others – standing near the viewport and gazing absently into starlit space.  
What he was really doing was monitoring the emotions of everyone in the room. Sans one.

Obi-Wan was trying very hard not to become frustrated with himself, but he was only succeeding outwardly. The feelings emanating from the others within the room were intermingling like coils of colored smoke, undulating and twisting around one another, and his perception was still in the process of repairing itself in the aftermath of Anakin's violent strike upon the Force. The emotions he was able to identify were hardly a revelation to the Jedi Master; confusion, agitation, and worry left strong impressions on the atmosphere inside the confined area.  
But he did find that could discern the sources of several particularly vibrant feelings. Padmé, for instance, was a pool of still, crystalline water – radiating calm and assurance. Obi-Wan assumed that he could pick up on her Force signature because he had become more attuned to it over the course of the past few days.  
The twins were obviously incapable of shielding their emotions from a fellow Force Sensitive, and thereby exuded everything they felt like bursts of bright light. Luke was brimming with contentment from his place in his father's arms, and Leia was abuzz with curiosity as she stared up into a face that resembled her mother's and heard an unfamiliar voice echoing in her tiny ears.  
The Jedi Master's blue-grey eyes flicked across the other women's faces and rested momentarily on Anakin. With his son firmly tucked into the curve of his arm, a small grin seemed to be permanently affixed to his mouth as he gazed down at the tiny miracle. Yet true to his restless nature, Anakin's attention would drift every few seconds, and bright blue would flash briefly to Padmé, to his daughter, to the handmaidens…when eventually it touched on Obi-Wan's unmoving stare.

To the others in the room it would have seemed to be nothing more than a fleeting glance between friends, but that was not the case. In that one look, an entire conversation took place, based solely on intuition and the interpretation of one another's expressions.  
Intensity burned fierce and hot within the indigo depths of Anakin's eyes – no longer tempered by the darkening shadows of the dark side – and Obi-Wan glimpsed the question that was consuming the younger man's thoughts, begging for an answer. Sea-colored orbs shifted tones of ash and cobalt like waves upon an ocean, and replied with expected composure as Obi-Wan gave a barely perceptible nod. His old Padawan blinked once, the straight line of his shoulders lowering slightly – and in near-perfect unison, the two brothers turned aside, ending their silent dialogue.  
Padmé felt the warm, calloused fingers wrapped around her hand squeeze gently, and she knew that it was her signal to begin. Taking in one slow breath of cool, filtered air, she allowed all of her traits as a public speaker to assume control. "I want to thank all of you again for coming; it means more to me, and to my family, than I can say."  
As soon as the first word left her lips, she became the focus of every pair of eyes within the conference room. Obi-Wan strolled casually to an empty seat beside Yané, whose erect posture stiffened just noticeably, though her gaze did not waver from Padmé. Ellé and Moteé were as serene as ever, and Rabé had her hands folded under her chin as she leaned over the gleaming tabletop, her rapt stare well remembered. Dormé, with Leia cradled in her arms, was gently rocking back and forth, her eyes soft and curious upon her old friend's face. Anakin's vivid, supportive stare gleamed blue in the corner of Padmé's vision, and it burgeoned the bubble of hope in her chest. Only Sabé remained as she was – leaning back in her chair on Padmé's immediate left, arms crossed nonchalantly over her stomach – but her dark eyes smoldered with interest.

"We face a galaxy trapped within the direst of circumstances," Padmé continued. "A Sith Lord has become the self-proclaimed ruler of known civilization, and has very nearly effectively eradicated the Jedi from the universe. He is also a serious threat to my children. They are the reason why he has fabricated my abduction by Master Kenobi, but I cannot allow them to fall into the Empire's hands."  
She paused a moment to catch her breath, her heartbeat suddenly thunderous in the silence.  
"My plan, quite simply, is this: Sabé," she gestured sideways, and Sabé's mouth tilted in a lopsided smirk, "will take my place on Coruscant, accompanied by two handmaidens of her choosing. She will return under the guise that Master Kenobi freed her after hearing of the Emperor's announcement, pleading for my release. He did not tell her where he was going or what he would do, only that he was deeply sorry for her involvement in this tragedy." Padmé eloquently shrugged one narrow shoulder. "A bit vague, I know…but the people will buy it. They have no reason to distrust me."  
"And Sidious?" Anakin spoke up quietly, and Padmé wondered once again why he now insisted on calling Palpatine by his Sith name, "Will he buy it?"  
She turned slightly to meet his eyes – and saw, or felt, or some combination of the two – his unceasing fear for her and the twins' safety, and the justification that fear needed to be quelled. She touched his cheek, lightly, with her fingertips. "He will be suspicious no matter what story I decide to give him. But I think he will accept it. For the time being." Her velvety brown eyes flickered with worry for a split second before it was concealed, but Anakin was not limited by what he saw when it came to his wife. Through their bond, he discovered the source. Her worry was not for herself or their family…but for the dear friend that would once again place her life in jeopardy for their sake.

And then the emotion vanished altogether as Padmé glanced sidelong at Sabé, a playful sparkle lighting up her expression as she said, "We'll go over the details of your 'performance' later."  
Sabé replied with a full-blown grin, her teeth glittering in the starlight. "I can't wait."  
Anakin looked over Padmé's head at her decoy in utter disbelief. Even he had a way of making light of a dangerous situation, but this… Sabé's blasé attitude over what she was willing to step into had him baffled. Did she fully understand exactly what she could be subjected to if she was exposed? It was not that he wasn't grateful for her participation – it was just that he knew how deeply Padmé cared for her, and how much it would hurt his angel if another was killed in her place. She still mourned the loss of Cordé, though the ache had been dulled by the passing years.  
Fortunately, he and Obi-Wan were on the same page. His former Master's face was passive, but his voice reflected his skepticism as he remarked, "I hope that you comprehend the gravity of the situation you are preparing to enter, Sabé. This will be nothing like your time as decoy during the Trade Federation blockade. The Emperor has a very powerful command of the Force, and neither the restraint or the compassion of a Jedi. If you are revealed, he will use any and all resources at his disposal to wrest information from your mind – and that includes techniques within the Force for which there is little or no defense. Think carefully on your choice."

He had not meant to speak so bluntly, but there was something in Sabé's blithe expression that seemed surprisingly vulnerable. Obi-Wan really could not put his finger on it. Just that a part of him, deep inside, was flooded with an emotion he found he could not name at the mere thought of this bold, brave woman being at the mercy of a Sith Lord. Instead of examining the tangled threads of that unnamable feeling, Obi-Wan dismissed it as camaraderie, for Sabé reminded him of a younger Anakin – the fearless Padawan whose disregard for his own welfare – and his Master's – had often frustrated him to no end.  
Padmé was staring at him with wide eyes, shocked by his words. Anakin's jaw flexed, and the Jedi Master knew that the younger man thought he had said too much, but they both knew that Obi-Wan was correct in his statement. But it was Sabé that captured his immediate attention.  
Her lovely face – so like Padmé's and yet so very different – had drained of color, and her full lips were compressed into a hard line. Her carefree slouch had been replaced by a ramrod-straight pose equal to any soldier, and her almond-shaped eyes blazed with ferocious determination. Those dark eyes held Obi-Wan more securely than any chains as Sabé opened her mouth to speak.  
"The training of a Naboo Royal Decoy begins in early childhood – not so different from your Jedi Order – though we do not have the Force to rely on during our exercises. I learned how to mimic phrasing, the turn of a head, the smallest twist of a finger. I learned how to carry a concealed weapon, how to mark a potential threat from a hundred yards away, how to switch roles with my Queen at a moment's notice. And I learned to put aside the fear for myself and focus instead on the protection of another. Not only the protection of one life, but also the countless lives that that one life affected. The fear I felt for me was insignificant compared to the fear of those who depended upon the one whose life I was sworn to defend – to die for, if needs be."

Sabé's voice was clear and cold, like the icy air of a winter's day, and it filled the conference room as grandly as any Galactic Senator's.  
"You ask me if I comprehend the gravity of the situation – I do, perhaps even more than anyone else in this room. I am well aware of the risks involved, especially if I am discovered. But my training did not end when I became Padmé's decoy at the age of fourteen. A decoy must be like an anole, forever changing to blend in to their circumstances, because a decoy understands that her life is not as important as the life of the one whose shoes she must fill." She leaned forward, her gaze hard and unyielding. "I am not helpless – even against the power of the Force. And I have already thought on my choice. That is why I am still here."  
The decoy and the Jedi Master stared at one another in the tense silence that followed. Obi-Wan felt frustrated, annoyed, and surprisingly impressed by Sabé's passionate testimony. Though he was not convinced in the slightest about her resistance of the Force, he had detected the faintest hint of challenge in those words, and in the way she held her chin upright – almost defiantly, like Anakin when he felt he had justifiable means for his actions. He had to admit to himself that he was tempted to accept that challenge; he could test her so-called defenses and subdue that inexplicable feeling in regard to her well-being, and also perhaps lay to rest the maddening arrogance dancing along the corners of her mouth.  
Had Obi-Wan still been the brash, eager Padawan he had been when he and Sabé first met, he would not have hesitated to test her. But his Jedi Master passivity won out – in a way.

"Forgive me if I offended you, Sabé." Obi-Wan inclined his head formally, waiting to see the glimmer of triumph in her large brown eyes. To his mild bemusement, she blinked in surprise. He continued, "Before you depart, perhaps it would be beneficial to discuss your…_additional training,_ particularly against Force powers. We may be able to better prepare you in the event of your capture."  
"If that is your request, Master Jedi," Sabé answered just as formally. Padmé shot each of them a warning glare, and Sabé was the first to turn aside, throwing her friend a wide, childlike smile. "Shall we continue?" She fell back into her chair, the picture of casual ease once more.  
Obi-Wan barely resisted the urge to shake his head in exasperation. Then he caught Anakin's eye. His old friend was watching him with a mixture of amazement and hilarity, and his blue eyes were bright and strangely expectant, as if something had occurred that he had been waiting to see for a long time. As soon as he felt Obi-Wan's gaze, Anakin's expression was swept clean of all emotion – though his eyes retained the tiniest sparkle of glee.

Padmé cleared her throat, dark eyes surveying her audience to ensure that everyone's attention had been restored to her, and resumed speaking – as if the interruption had not even occurred. "While Sabé and her team are inserted into Galactic City, the three remaining handmaidens will be dispatched to separate corners of the galaxy. These locations will be carefully chosen based on my personal travels and Jedi lore, and each handmaiden will journey under a pseudonym. If Sabé is revealed to be an impostor – " she barely resisted the urge to glance over at Obi-Wan – "each handmaiden will assume my identity in their specified location, and follow a convex path through several planets when and if they are detected by an Imperial scout. We'll have their whole Fleet running around in circles."  
"Forgive me, Milady, but…" Rabé's expression was apologetic, but her intelligent stare was keen, "Though your plan is a sound one, I have spotted a large flaw. _You_ may be seen on Coruscant and any number of other places, but what about your children? Even the Emperor must understand enough about humanity to question that a mother would part with her newborn. How will we account for their absence?"  
The other handmaiden's faces swiftly darted from Rabé to Padmé, each one wondering how the plan may be adjusted, and how such an adjustment would be possible. There were no decoys for infants, and constant movement from planet to planet was extremely unwise with a baby in tow – their tiny bodies would not yet be accustomed to the inertia of hyperspace. One trip was possible, if ill advised, but several? Over the course of days, perhaps hours?

Padmé saw the doubt clouding each of her friend's eyes, and knew that she must respond quickly and confidently to assail their fears. "The Emperor is unaware that I have given birth to twins. But we can be certain that he knows that my child has been born, because Master Yoda sensed it through the Force from over 20 parsecs away." Her voice quieted, reflecting on her next words as she spoke, for it could have been her future – and a dark one, at that.  
"As much as I hate to admit it, Palpatine knows me very well. He knows how to anticipate my reactions to specific events, and he knows many facets of my personality. With that in mind, he knows that I would never risk my child's safety just for my own selfish desire to remain with them." She then looked over at Obi-Wan, and saw the ghost of previous sadness lingering behind his storm-colored eyes. "And he would know that if I were to give up my child for their protection, it would be into the care of a Jedi."  
The Jedi Master calmly took over the explanation. "The Emperor will expect Padmé's child to be under guard by a Jedi, because of their inherited strength within the Force. And he will expect that guardian to be either Master Yoda or myself, for we both have indisputable ties and reasons for training the child to become a Jedi. And he is vehemently opposed to that idea."  
"Because he wants to train the child as a Sith," Ellé put in helpfully, looking at Padmé for approval.  
"That's not the only reason." Sabé was staring down at the tabletop, deep in thought, and whatever she was thinking disturbed her greatly, for her hands were clenched in fists on either side of her ribcage so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "He doesn't want the Jedi to return because he is afraid. He is afraid that he doesn't have enough power to battle the son or daughter of Anakin Skywalker once he or she is a fully vested Jedi Knight." She looked up suddenly, and in one fluid motion turned to Anakin. Her piercing eyes brimmed with insight – and something akin to sympathy. "That's why he worked so hard all these years to make you doubt yourself, and the people you care for. He was terrified. Of you."

It was as if a great light had sliced through the oppressive blackness surrounding Anakin's memory of his deepest betrayal. Though he was still looking at Sabé, his ice-blue eyes were faraway as they revisited moments of the past with fresh acuity.  
It made sense. It all made terrible, indisputable sense.  
In his mind, Anakin watched every conversation, each interaction he had with the then-Chancellor as though he was an invisible observer – and realized that he had been utterly blind. Blind, foolish, and – if he was completely honest with himself – unbelievably naïve. Palpatine was a master manipulator, and with every word issuing from his mouth, he tugged on Anakin's emotions. Playing to his pride, his inflated sense of self-importance, and carefully undermining the fragile foundation of trust that his relationship to the Jedi, to Obi-Wan, and to Padmé was built upon.  
With a burst of white light, his vision flashed to the observation deck of the _Invisible Hand_, and he was once more looking down at the frightened, grey-bearded face of Count Dooku, crossed bars of blue and red light heating the exposed skin of the Sith Lord's throat.  
_"Do it!"_ The voice, harsh and demanding, rasped like sandpaper in his ears.  
It was a command, delivered as to expect immediate compliance. But now, there was more. Like peeling away the layers of an onion, the light that Sabé's hypothesis shed on those two syllables revealed something that Palpatine had never intended for Anakin to see.  
Fear.  
Fear that Anakin would not obey. Fear that Dooku would survive, and in retaliation for his Master's betrayal, unmask the Sith Lord before his many plans came to fruition. And then, Sidious would find himself at the mercy of the only man who had the power to defeat him – that was perhaps _destined_ to defeat him.

"_And in a time of great despair, there shall arise a Chosen One; with the Force as his ally he will restore the balance of the universe, and none shall be able to equal his power."  
_Anakin had heard the prophecy, and its many connotations so many times, that he had grown sick of it. In fact, there had been times when he wished, fleetingly, that he was not this fabled Chosen One – that he was just another exceptionally gifted Jedi, just another face among the histories of the Order.  
It seemed that he had finally gotten his wish.  
"…_with the Force as his ally he will restore the balance…"_ Anakin was devoid of the Force, by his own doing, and he had no way of knowing if it would be returned to him.  
He was no longer certain if he wanted it back.  
So the prophecy remained unfulfilled, and it may stay that way for centuries. Maybe it would never come to pass. Surely Yoda and Obi-Wan together would be more than capable of overcoming the Emperor at the appropriate time…two Jedi Masters as powerful as them would be far stronger than Anakin alone…  
And then he saw the bodies of Kit Fisto, Saesee Tiin, and Agen Kolar lying like broken wax dolls on the crimson floor of the Chancellor's office. His stomach soured. Four Jedi Masters had not been enough against one Sith; why should Yoda and Obi-Wan be any different?  
_But I can't fight him now, _Anakin beseeched into the void left by the Force. _How can I fulfill the prophecy if I can't use the Force?_ There must be someone else to take his place. The Force could choose another, or even create another, as it had created him…

The thought rose – unwanted, unbidden – and it stabbed through his heart like a lightsaber blade.  
Luke. Leia.  
If there were any in the galaxy that could step into his place and assume the mantle of the Chosen One, it would be his children. What better choice would there be than the blood heir of the prophecy?  
The injury to his heart flamed and burned his insides with rage. It was a familiar sensation, almost like a visit from an old friend whom he had not seen in some time, and for a moment Anakin embraced it. He would not allow the Force to claim one of the twins, his precious little stars, as its tool. He had attacked it once – he would find a way to do so again, to ensure that it would never steal his family away from him.  
A sliver of clarity, like a trickle of ice running through heated caverns of lava, touched the edge of his vengeful thoughts.  
The Force was not done with him. Though he had lashed out against it with every shred of power contained in his being, it had spared his beloved angel from death at his desperate entreaty. He had offered himself in her place; he would not have hesitated to shield her from harm by sacrificing all that he was.  
Anakin felt as if he was turning a corner on the path of his life, and he could not yet see where it would lead. Something else had happened during that timeless moment besides the bonding of his soul to Padmé's. Obi-Wan was evasive when Anakin questioned him about what he had sensed, and the affection and respect in the Jedi Master's eyes was now tinged with the glimmer of awe – a faint representation of the worshipful stares that Younglings and Padawans had cast in his direction within the halls of the Temple.  
Yet he understood that if the Force had not rejected him as the Chosen One, then there was no danger to his and Padmé's tiny hopes. And he could breathe again.

------------

Padmé was studying her husband's blank expression with mounting anxiety. She concentrated hard, her smooth brow furrowing with the effort, and tried to read Anakin's emotions by touching the place in her mind that seemed to resonate with his presence. At first she felt nothing except the blood flowing through her veins, the iron grip of worry closing tight around her heart… She focused harder, narrowing her perception by shutting out all other sounds, as Ani had briefly coached her just this morning.  
_"Imagine that we're sitting in our meadow on Naboo." _His soft, earnest voice floated across her memory, and she once again listened to his instruction. _"The waterfalls roar in the distance, the birds are singing, and the wind whistles through the grass. Now, put those aside and listen only to my voice. Imagine everything else falling silent – until the only thing you hear is me."  
_Padmé fell into the visualization as if it were a pleasant daydream, and again, touched their bond.  
She instantly recoiled from the scalding fire of his rage, which had arisen so quickly that it appeared to have a will of its own. Padmé tried to draw closer, to find the center, where Anakin was undoubtedly trapped – but it was like standing before a blazing inferno, the intense heat shimmering in the air and blocking her path as solidly as a durasteel wall. She could not breach it, and she could not extinguish it.  
So she tried a different tactic.

She stepped into the rage. She let the flames pass through her, licking at each nerve ending with blistering hostility as if she were a pile of kindling, and she winced at the sheer ferocity fueling the blaze. But to her amazement, the feeling did not consume her. Rather, it was as if some impenetrable barrier covered her conscious mind as it threaded its way into Anakin's psyche. Padmé wondered if it was her own mental defenses, or if, instinctively, Ani was protecting her from himself.  
Finally, she reached the core of the firestorm – and it was dark, like deep space that had been emptied of stars – and fear washed over her, frigid and inescapable, and with such force that she gasped audibly.  
"No," Padmé whispered in her thoughts, "Don't let it control you, Anakin. I'm here. We are strong together." She sensed him in the darkness, as though he were suddenly standing right beside her, and felt the fear pause as he listened to her soft prompting. And with a rush, wind howling in her ears, Padmé blinked – and the conference room swam into view. Like awakening from a deep sleep, she was disoriented, and some far, nearly hidden corner of her awareness glowed with newfound knowledge, though she had no idea what it was. The glow faded, almost as if it had been snuffed out – and Padmé recalled what had happened, where she was, and most importantly _who_ she was. Ani had warned her that the first few times would be incredibly challenging on her untrained mind, but he promised that he would be there to help her regain herself.  
Two blue stars burned into her eyes, and then her vision widened, the stars settling into the tanned, handsome face of her husband. Relief flooded her being, and she heard someone speaking. It was a voice she recognized, and it seemed abnormally loud as it rang from somewhere to her left.

"I am sorry if I spoke out of turn, Master Skywalker," Sabé stammered, displaying uncertainty for the first time since she had arrived. "I did not mean to –"  
"It's all right, Sabé. You just made me realize something, and I was lost in thought." Anakin stated this calmly, without the slightest trace of that scorching rage Padmé had experienced. "And please, call me Anakin." Though he addressed Sabé, Anakin's gaze never strayed from Padmé, and there was unmistakable gratitude and pride shining in the depths of his indigo orbs. When he did turn to look at the decoy, his trademark smirk bowed his lips, and he remarked, "You're amazingly perceptive for a non-Jedi."  
Sabé replied with a teasing smirk of her own. "It's my job to watch and listen for that which is unseen and unheard. People tend to forget that handmaidens are far more than simple companions."  
Anakin chuckled under his breath, glancing down at the small form resting comfortably in the crook of his arm. Luke's tiny eyelids were closed, and his breathing was soft and deep. Anakin's smirk gentled into a loving smile, and he felt Padmé's thumb caressing the back of his hand, her slender fingers interlaced with his. It was then that he remembered the presence of the only functional Jedi in the room. His eyes darted upwards to find Obi-Wan at the far end of the table. His former Master wore the most peculiar expression.  
Before Anakin could even begin to decipher it, Rabé – the most logic-based soul of them all – announced to put this meeting back on somewhat familiar ground, "So the Empire will not be expecting to take both Padmé and her child into custody at the same time. That makes our scenario more manageable."  
Moteé retorted in her cool, unruffled manner, "But no less difficult. The Emperor has a great gift for subtlety. It has been my observation that he tends to wait for an adversary to make the first move, and then adjust his own before revealing any type of strategy."  
"He won't directly approach me until he feels that he can anticipate my response," Sabé said, measuring the other handmaiden with speculative eyes.  
"Exactly," Moteé nodded. "Which may give us more time to develop a false lead."

"To what end?"  
Obi-Wan shifted in his seat to glance at the woman next to him. Her voice was quiet and melodious, but the tone seethed with suppressed tension. Yané continued to speak, keeping her stare locked on Moteé, while Obi-Wan slowly opened himself to the Force. "We have no army, no means of pitting ourselves against the combined might of the Empire. And there are no more Jedi to call upon for aid." Her eyes slid to the right to focus momentarily on Anakin – and he was shocked by the undisguised revulsion smoldering behind the onyx-colored pupils. But when he blinked, Yané's attention had returned to Moteé, who still appeared composed – though her cheeks had paled.  
"Perhaps. I was merely offering a suggestion, not a probable course of action," she answered. Then she folded her hands demurely upon the tabletop and transferred her gaze to Padmé. Yané pressed her lips tightly together, as if to prevent words from escaping her mouth, and ignored the confused looks and outraged glares of her comrades.  
Anakin was beyond perplexed. Why was one of Padmé's former handmaidens repulsed by him? She barely even knew him – and what she did know she had probably learned from the HoloNet, which was as reliable as a Toydarian merchant. Peripherally, he caught a glimpse of his wife's face, and it was frozen somewhere between incensed and empathetic. He did not know what to make of that, so he glanced over at Obi-Wan. The Jedi Master's eyes were dangerously narrow, peering from beneath the shadows of a heavily lowered brow. After a handful of seconds, the scarcely visible scowl evaporated, and Obi-Wan's hand rose to his beard, fingering it absently in contemplation. Anakin silently willed his friend to look at him, to give him some indication of what he had sensed emanating from Yané in the Force. The older man's gaze drifted idly about the room while Anakin fought to keep a tight rein on his impatience. Finally, Obi-Wan looked in his direction, saw the obvious question on his former apprentice's face, and merely offered an infinitesimal lift of his shoulders.

An uneasy silence followed Yané and Moteé's verbal sparring, and then a quiet, timid voice punctuated the stillness. "Milady?" Dormé appeared to be a little flustered at being the center of attention, but Anakin was relieved to see that she continued to cradle Leia with practiced ease. "I understand your plan and my place in it – so I have only one question." She waited until Padmé nodded before asking, "Where will you and your family be staying?"  
Padmé hesitated just long enough to be noticeable. She glanced sidelong at Anakin, so swiftly that it was impossible to determine why she had done so, and drew in a deep breath. "Naboo," she replied – and braced herself for the onslaught.  
The pandemonium of noise startled Luke awake, causing him to cry out – and Leia, suddenly overwhelmed by the emotional explosion, added her own piercing wails to the tumult. Everyone was speaking at once; Ellé was engaged in an argument with Rabé over Padmé's sanity in making such a decision, Dormé was attempting to hush the youngest Skywalker, and the remaining handmaidens' sentences stumbled over one another, so that their words made no sense whatsoever. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, while Anakin murmured soothingly to his newborn son, and Padmé and Sabé looked at each other simultaneously, shaking their heads.  
Then Padmé held up one hand, palm outward, and every tongue stilled…save for Leia, whose wails had faded to the occasional whimper. "We will not head there until Sabé is successfully inserted on Coruscant. Hear me out, please," she ordered, when Rabé's mouth opened to protest. "Naboo is the last place Palpatine will expect me to go, though I am certain that the planet will be under surveillance – along with my parents, my sister, and her family. I do not go with a false sense of security. But the villa is completely isolated, and there are no records to trace its purchase, location, or ownership to me. Sometimes the safest place to hide is the one that is in plain sight."

Rabé could stand it no longer. This was totally illogical, and that bothered her immensely. "And how do you plan to land on Naboo?" she asked, trying to eliminate the sarcasm in her tone. "Port Control is surely in the hands of the Empire."  
"We'll just avoid Port Control, then," Anakin replied coolly, his blue eyes hard and ice-cold. He did not appreciate the handmaiden's lack of confidence in Padmé's strategy. It was brilliant, and Rabé could not seem to grasp that concept.  
"How?" she shot back, not the least intimidated by the infamous Jedi Knight. Anakin ground his teeth, mentally searching for an effective comeback. Unfortunately he was coming up short, and his old standard _"I'll make it up as I go"_ was not the way to inspire trust. He had to improve at this critical thinking process as soon as possible, and not jump into unknown situations without the slightest inkling of what –  
The idea hit him like a bolt of electricity.  
"The _Aiwha."  
_Sabé sat up slowly, warily, unfolding her arms as she stared at Anakin. "What?"  
His face shone with a type of fierce joy at having found a solution to the problem before actually finding himself _in_ the problem. "We switch ships. Naturally, Sabé should arrive on Coruscant in the skiff, because that's the one we escaped in. And," he gestured at the decoy, "you said that your ship has an EMP shroud, and that it blocks radar and sensors. We can use that to land on Naboo undetected."  
She watched him for a moment, deliberating. "It works for me," she agreed with a shrug. Padmé beamed at him, and he experienced her approval as a warm breeze swirling inside his heart. The others nodded amongst themselves, though a slight frown darkened Rabé's features while she pondered any foreseeable snags with this new element to the plan – and found none.  
"We know that the EMP shroud helped Sabé leave the Kuat system. I see no reason not to proceed with Mas– Anakin's recommendation," she corrected herself hastily.  
Sabé lightly slapped her thighs with a sort of casual finality. "That's takes care of that. I think we've got our cards in order."

"One more thing." Padmé gripped the armrests of her hoverchair, and began to push herself to her feet. Both Anakin and Sabé moved to assist, but she waved them away with a jerk of her head. Once she was standing, every other person in the room found it impossible to look away from the regal portrait she presented. Illuminated by starlight, her expression was all at once soft and unyielding, and her voice was both compelling and serene. "You know what it is that I ask of you, and you also know that I cannot command you to participate – nor do I wish to. I offer each of you the choice. Should you choose not to aid us, you are free to leave. I trust every one of you with my life, and so I am certain that none of you would betray my trust. You may return home, or to your previous stations. But please understand this:"  
Padmé leaned forward, dark eyes wide and full of hope, "I would not have asked all of you here if I did not think that we would succeed. And we _will_ succeed. Every person in this room – this is the turning of the tide. I do not know why this fate chose me, why the people closest to me are the most important to the universe, but it did. I have done all I can for the ones I love. The rest is up to you."  
Her legs were shaking from exertion, and she staggered backwards. Anakin caught her in his arms, guiding her into the hoverchair, but did not release her. Burying his face in her long, thick curls, he whispered, "You are amazing." He kissed her cheek and reluctantly withdrew, his eyes burning into hers. She held his adoring gaze, and jumped with surprise at the unexpected movement to her left.

Sabé had risen to her feet; bracing her palms on the tabletop, she leaned far over the gleaming wood surface, the tail of her braid falling over one shoulder and coiling onto the table. "Who is with us?"  
Almond-shaped brown eyes scanned the area with sharp intensity, awaiting the first response.  
"I am with you." Ellé spoke as though the words would burst out of her.  
"I am with you," Moteé answered a heartbeat later. Ellé grinned widely at her counterpart.  
"I am with you." Dormé was looking down at the tiny infant in her arms, and as she finished her eyes rose to both Padmé and Anakin.  
"As am I," Rabé declared firmly. But she was not looking at Padmé. She was watching the only handmaiden that had not yet voiced her decision.  
Yané sat as though carved from ice, her emotions warring with one another across her elegant face. Anger twisted her mouth, but her eyes were awash with unshed tears. Then, all of a sudden, Obi-Wan moved closer to the conflicted young woman and murmured quietly, though everyone was able to hear him in the silence, "We each have choices to make. We do not always choose wisely."  
Yané's face crumpled. She flung a hand over her mouth, and bolted for the doorway, leaving a stunned audience in her wake. Anakin's head whipped sideways, and watched with dismay and confusion as a single tear cascaded from the corner of Padmé's eye.  
"Dormé?" she said.  
"Yes, Milady." The loyal handmaiden and friend came to her feet, passed a now-asleep Leia to Obi-Wan, who was too bewildered to respond, and followed Yané's path out of the conference room.  
"Thank you all," Padmé spoke again, wiping the tear away with a fingertip. "I would suggest that all of you get something to eat and some rest. You'll have to stay on your ships, I'm afraid – Administrator Tuun is concerned that an overflow of humans to the MedCenter will look too suspicious. We will reconvene tomorrow morning at 0800." The handmaidens agreed in subdued tones, and began to depart. Padmé reached out and grabbed Sabé's hand, wordlessly urging her to stay, and her old friend promptly seated herself once more. Now the more complicated meeting would begin.

------------

As soon as Ellé, the last handmaiden to depart, closed the door behind her, Anakin was undone. Glaring at Padmé, Obi-Wan, and Sabé alternately, he demanded, _"What_ was _that_ about?"  
"Ani, I'm so sorry." Padmé touched the keypad on an arm of her hoverchair and turned to fully face him. She placed both her hands on his forearm, lightly resting on the cords of muscle beneath his tunic as it supported the fragile body of their son. Her beautiful dark eyes mirrored the apology in her tone as she explained, "I thought about telling you earlier, but I was afraid that it would upset you, and I didn't want it to affect your thinking in regards to inviting her here as a member of this group." Padmé sighed heavily, and looked down at her fingers, curled slightly around his arm. "I wanted to give Yané a chance to reconcile with the past, but now…perhaps it was not the best idea."  
"Perhaps," Sabé echoed, with the barest hint of teasing sarcasm.  
Anakin managed to remain calm, though what he really wanted was to shout his frustration for the whole asteroid to hear. He _hated _being kept in the dark – that chafing notion that others around him knew things that affected his life while he was oblivious, whether purposefully or simply by chance. It was like growing up in the Jedi Temple all over again.  
He inhaled slowly, and with tremendous mental effort – due in no small part to Padmé's ever-expanding influence – smothered the resurrected feelings of inferiority and irritation that had built within his spirit over the course of his Jedi training. When Padmé looked back up, he was firmly in control…or as much as he could be so she was not alarmed by what she sensed through their bond. "I think that _now _would be a good time to tell me," Anakin said evenly, but his voice shook just a little towards the end. Padmé's hands shifted against his arm, and that simple contact warmed him, serving as an anchor and pulling him towards less hostile emotions.

"Yané acted as my handmaiden until I began my second term as Queen. She then requested a position as Senator's Aide to assist Horace Yancil – my predecessor in the Senate and former Economic Advisor. I knew that Yané was deeply interested in the socio-economic climate, and she had a wonderful mind for learning. I released her from service in the Palace, and as soon as arrangements were made, she traveled to Coruscant with my blessing." Her eyes grew distant, reliving the past as she spoke, and was therefore unaware that Anakin and Obi-Wan were listening intently; Anakin, with a small, puzzled arch to his eyebrows, and Obi-Wan, with a slight frown.  
"I received frequent holo-messages from her, and they were always filled with enthusiasm. She had gained so much knowledge and experience, she felt that she could finally make a real difference for the common people of the Republic through her work in the Senate." She laughed once, almost sadly. "Actually, her attitude was a lot like mine when I first entered public service. But in the last year of Senator Yancil's tenure, something happened to Yané. At first it was subtle; her opinions of the governmental system began changing, her messages became fewer and far between, and then I heard from Yancil personally. He told me that Yané was neglecting her duties as an Aide, and would vanish for periods of time. He was concerned for her safety – a Senator's Aide caught sneaking about the capital could be accused of spying. I promised the Senator that I would look into it, and sent my own message to Yané, ordering her to return to the Palace for an official debriefing."

Padmé paused then, arranging her thoughts, while Obi-Wan's frown grew more pronounced. Wherever the next step in her story led, Padmé appeared to be steeling herself for the aftermath, and that had him worried. She continued, "When Yané returned to Theed, she acted short-tempered and aloof – not at all like the eager, smart young woman that had left months ago. She was genuinely surprised when her "debriefing" was actually an invitation to lunch in my private quarters within the Palace.  
And with no one else there but her and I, Yané shared with me her secret. She had fallen in love. I thought that reason was very anticlimactic, as well," she said in response to Anakin's expression, "so I kept silent and allowed her to continue. She was convinced that he loved her, too, but they both knew that it was a relationship that had no future. It simply was not permitted. I began to wonder what she meant. Certainly there are cultures represented in the Senate that frown upon romantic entanglements in the midst of galactic politics – but none of them consider it to be a punishable offense. And the way she spoke about the possibility of being discovered…I knew that the consequences would be severe. I asked her for his name, hoping that perhaps I could contact his local governing body and sort this whole thing out. 'Cian,' she said. 'Cian Wynn.'"

Obi-Wan's entire countenance darkened, his frown creating deep creases on his forehead as his eyes narrowed to slits. Leia stirred restlessly in his arms, disturbed by the Jedi Master's emotions before he contained them. Padmé glanced at him, then at Leia, and resumed her tale. "The name was unlike any I had heard before, and when Yané did not offer any further titles or descriptions, an alarm sounded in my head. As a monarch, I despised meddling in other's personal affairs – especially my handmaidens, whom I considered my close friends – but I refused to let the matter drop, though Yané repeatedly assured me that she would not disregard her work from now on. 'Where did you meet?' I asked her. It was a casual question, and one that I hoped would shed some light on the uneasiness I suddenly felt. She told me that he had been on assignment in the Senatorial Offices, delivering some formalities to a few Senators…" Padmé hesitated, her face clouding with concern as she studied her husband, "…on behalf of the Jedi Council."

Anakin felt the floor disappear from beneath him, and he tumbled in a noiseless vacuum of shock. There was no question that the man Yané had met and fallen in love with during her time on Coruscant was a Jedi. Was that why she hated him? No…if she was holding a grudge because of her own forbidden relationship, she would not have come to Padmé's aid. There had to be something else.  
And it was obvious by his reaction that Obi-Wan had recognized the name of a fellow Jedi – but why did he know this Cian Wynn when Anakin did not? At least, he didn't think so. Something flitted at the murky edges of Anakin's consciousness, just out of reach. A memory that he almost recalled, yet a part of him urged the rest of his mind _not _to remember it. He struggled to regain his psychological footing and nodded once, wordlessly encouraging his wife to continue.  
She watched him for another minute, gauging the feelings that were harbored inside his features and the cerulean irises of his eyes, and then took up the role of storyteller again. "I realized at that moment – just as you have – that Yané was in love with a Jedi. It was common knowledge to us all that Jedi were forbidden to love, and I was incredibly shocked by my friend's behavior – even more so by this man who claimed to be a member of the Order. I learned from her that Cian was a Padawan Learner, studying under Master Dalnus Cam and nearing his induction into Knighthood. But he carried some doubts in regard to the Jedi Order's seeming isolation from the daily life of the universe. He believed that a Jedi should have a more well-rounded understanding of the average being's passions and prejudices, and therefore experience a deeper connection with the Living Force – thus becoming a better Jedi, and one more willing to serve.  
I could tell that it was those beliefs that gave Cian and Yané their familiar ground. They both wanted to serve the greater good of the common people, in their own individual ways.  
After that first meeting, they conspired to discuss their thoughts with one another as often as they could, contriving many various means and locations. They became friends. It wasn't until around two months before I sent for her that Yané noticed a change within Cian. He seemed…uncomfortable around her at one moment, and then the next he could not seem to stay away from her. When she confronted him about it, he told her that he was no longer certain if he wanted to be a Jedi – because a Jedi cannot love. 'I refuse to surrender my feelings just because the Code says they are wrong,' he had said to her. 'How can what I feel for you be wrong?'"

Anakin lowered his eyes, his heart in a quandary. It seemed as though he and Cian had gone through the same heart-wrenching ordeal – torn between duty to their calling and the desires of their hearts.  
He found himself wishing that he had met the other Padawan, maybe talked to him…and that strange fluttering sensation erupted again in the back of his mind. He gazed across the limited space between them at his precious angel, and knew that if given a second chance, he would have made the same decision all over again – to choose Padmé instead of loyalty to the Jedi Code.  
Anakin laid his free hand on top of Padmé's knee and murmured soberly, "And that was when they became involved."  
She nodded, her soul glimmering in her eyes, telling him how much she loved him. "Yané begged me not to tell anyone; Cian still felt that he had an obligation to his Master, whom he looked to like a father, and wanted to complete his apprenticeship. Then, he would make his final decision and either join the ranks of the Order as a Knight – or join his heart to hers."  
Padmé released a breath, slumping a little in her seat. "As Queen, I should have commanded her to remember her people, her duty, and discontinue seeing Cian. But, as her friend…I told her that the decision was hers alone. She cried and hugged me and swore that everything would be all right – and I sent her back to Senator Yancil on Coruscant. I never heard another complaint about her work in the Senate, and after Queen Jamillia asked me to take Naboo's Senate seat, Yané was granted a higher position as an advisor to the Omwati representative. We spoke occasionally – but never broached any subject comprising the Jedi. Until the second assassination attempt on my life failed. Yané pulled me aside after the Senate meeting and whispered that she believed the Jedi would be called upon to protect me. I thought she was overreacting." Anakin stifled a laugh, and Padmé did not bother to conceal a grin. It faded as she observed, "And then I came to realize exactly what she and Cian faced." Husband and wife stared at one another in silence, reminiscing with perfect, painful clarity the emotionally charged days they had spent together in the weeks leading up to the Clone Wars.

Padmé's dark, velvet-brown gaze became strangely empty, and she recounted in a hollow monotone, "When the war started, Yané and I each had to bid farewell to the Jedi we loved, wondering when and if we would see them again. I debated internally many times if I should confide in Yané; perhaps we could comfort and bolster one another through the endless, nerve-wracking months. But my relationship with Anakin was the one thing that belonged to us – just us – and for that reason and many others, I did not share it with my friend. Both of us suffered in silence, and I learned to interpret the signs that accompanied Cian's homecoming. Yané would appear to change overnight – brightening like the sunrise after a moonless night – and she would be absent from the Senate proceedings for no more than two or three days, and then return. I often thought about approaching her after hours, as a friend, and asking if Cian had yet reached a decision in regard to his future as a Jedi." Her lower lip trembled slightly. "But I never got the chance."  
Anakin squeezed her leg gently, wordless consolation conveyed in that small gesture, and it gave Padmé the strength to continue. "One day, I was checking over the battle reports and casualty lists, and came upon a stack of paperwork simply labeled 'Jabiim'."  
Shards of ice thrust themselves into Anakin's chest, making it harder to breathe. Jabiim held many dark memories for him; the rain-soaked, grimy planet had claimed the lives of ten Jedi Padawans, all of whom Anakin had bonded with to form "The Padawan Pack", after each had lost their Master. Of course, Obi-Wan had been kidnapped by Asajj Ventress and was later rescued by Anakin himself and Ki-Adi-Mundi – but Anakin did not know he was even alive at the time.  
Each of those Padawans fell in battle, one by one, until Anakin was left in command of the remaining clone troopers. He would have stayed and fought until the end…but Chancellor Palpatine issued a direct order, commanding him to lead the evacuation of Republic troops, calling Jabiim a lost cause. Anakin had been so distraught and lost; he used his anger to call upon the dark side in an effort to escape the riotous citizens.  
Yes, Jabiim was the mud-spattered basin that held the blood of too many good Jedi.

"The first name on the _Killed In Action_ list caused me to fall to my knees. _Obi-Wan Kenobi._ I could not bear to read the next name – I was terrified that I would recognize it, as well. How I prayed that it would not be his, that it would be anyone else other than my Anakin. It wasn't his name, but it was still one that I recognized. _Dalnus Cam_ – Cian's Jedi Master. I quickly scanned the rest of the names, but his wasn't listed, either. I began collecting as much information as I could on the battle taking place on Jabiim, because I believed that both Yané and I had someone we loved fighting for their lives on its surface.  
Days passed. Every report from Jabiim was filled with more and more deaths. I felt like my entire existence hinged on the edge of a knife. Then I received word that the GAR was evacuating troops from the planet, and that First Lieutenant Skywalker was in charge of the operation." A tiny smile graced her mouth, and she directly addressed her husband. "I knew then that you were safe. I had never felt more relieved in my life."  
Padmé leaned forward and laid a butterfly kiss atop Anakin's nose. Her soft stare filled his vision for a brief instance, and then she settled back in her chair, the softness fading into profound sorrow.  
"My source handed me the casualty list, and I was about to toss it into the recycler – there was no need for me to look at it anymore. Until the name right above my thumb caught my eye. _Cian Wynn._

I yanked my arm away from the recycler and swiftly read the list. He was listed under _Missing and Presumed Dead._ I tucked the list into the folds of my Senate gown, and looked around frantically for Yané, wondering if she had heard the news – and if there was anything I could do to alleviate her pain.  
But she was nowhere to be found. I questioned the Omwati Senator, discreetly, and she informed me that Yané had requested the day off, due to sickness. My heart dropped into the soles of my feet. I summoned Threepio, and asked him to let Jar Jar know that I would not be attending the meeting, and then I set off for Yané's small apartment.  
About halfway there, I passed by the Jedi Temple…and something prompted me to stop. I redirected the airspeeder to the Temple's entrance, that strange feeling guiding me towards the main stairs. I remember every detail of that morning so clearly – the imagery is burned into my brain. The sun had just risen above the massive buildings, and the white marble steps seemed to glow underneath my feet. The massive statues of past Jedi hovered above me like giant sentinels, the sunlight illuminating their carved faces – and as I passed through the first row, I noticed a small, huddled figure hiding in the shadows of one of the statues. And I knew. I strode over as quickly as I dared, hiding behind the statue as well before I touched her shoulder. Yané jumped, but when she looked up and realized it was me…she completely broke down."  
Tears trickled down Padmé's cheeks, and she did not bother to wipe them away. "I have never seen a heart so broken, before that moment or since. All I could do was hold her and let her sob, keeping watch for any prying eyes or wandering Jedi. We sat there together for a long time. Eventually, Yané pulled away from me, drying her tears with the hem of her cloak – and her expression died right in front of my eyes. It was like…her spirit – everything that made her who she was, just – disappeared. And she never spoke a word – not once. She simply clambered to her feet, inclined her head to me, and descended the marble steps.  
She never looked back, even though I called out for her while ignoring the curious stares.

Afterwards, Yané was never seen on Coruscant again. She resigned her position in the Senate that same evening, packed her belongings and chartered a flight to the Mid Rim. I tried to follow her trail; she had been spotted on Naboo briefly, visiting her family, and then for some unknown reason, she headed to Telos – and that was where I lost her. Needless to say, she is _very _good at blending in to the masses. And I have not communicated with her until I sent my message two days ago, asking for her help."  
Padmé exhaled, long and deep, and her gaze reflected her shame as she focused only on Anakin. "I can only imagine what she must have felt when I told everyone about us. She probably despises me; but I cannot blame her for feeling that way. She had trusted me enough to reveal her secret, and I did not return the favor until it was unavoidable." Her head tilted to the side, studying her husband's expression and analyzing the emotions shaping his well-known features. "You are wondering why I decided to contact her at all," Padmé remarked with certainty. She let out a puff of breath. "I hoped that we could use this matter to resolve the barrier between us. And perhaps heal old wounds that have been left open and bleeding for some time.  
Yané has yet to come to terms with Cian's death – I saw it in her eyes the moment she left the ship and approached me. She has not allowed herself to grieve and move on, and I do not understand why. She is damaged inside, and whatever motivates her to exist this way is more powerful than anything else in her life. I wanted to give her a higher calling; something to live for that will benefit all – because I know that my friend is still in there, buried alive by misery and pain. And I will do all I can to save her."

Silence reigned in the wake of Padmé's monologue. The other adults seated around the conference table were lost in their own thoughts, and so the quiet persisted, the seconds ticking by unnoticed.  
Obi-Wan was leaning back in his chair, an elbow propped on an armrest, fingering his beard as always. He faced the direction of the viewport – but he was not stargazing, as was obvious from his expression. A kind of melancholy sadness warred with brooding across his face, and as he reviewed his thoughts, the infant nestled in his free arm studied him with dark, perceptive eyes.  
Anakin's restlessness had increased tenfold as he sat, his thoughts racing wildly through his head, and changing so quickly that he could not grasp one at a time. He had to move around – do something other than sit in the same chair he had occupied for hours. He leaned toward Padmé; she understood what he wanted, and met his lips with hers for a brief kiss. She could feel the tension in his jaw, but decided against asking him what was wrong. Anakin gently transferred a slumbering Luke into his mother's embrace, gave him a kiss on the forehead, and then practically leapt to his feet. He felt everyone's eyes on him as he paced swiftly to the viewport, watching the asteroids spinning lazily in their shifting orbits. He raked a hand through his tousled gold locks, his every nerve sizzling with suppressed agitation. And above the swirling torrent of thoughts and memories, one word repeatedly floated to the surface.  
_Jabiim. Jabiim. Jabiim._

Anakin rubbed his right temple, closing his eyes tightly as he fought to contain the black tide stemming from his experiences on that cursed battleground. Yet, in spite of all the moments that he wished to forget – his intuition whispered that the key was in his recollections of Jabiim. The key to _what,_ he really could not say. Only that whatever was stored inside his mind about what had taken place on Jabiim was important to their circumstance. He opened his eyes, squinting in the sudden glare of Polis Massa's sun, and caught sight of himself in the transparisteel. His ice-blue eyes blinked, surprised – and unexpectedly, his reflection morphed into the face of an angular, olive-skinned male with black hair, a Padawan braid hanging over his right shoulder, and his silver-grey eyes stared solemnly at Anakin…  
"_Sometimes our most selfish desires are the ones worth fighting for."  
_Anakin jerked, blinking furiously – but the image was gone. His own bewildered face gleamed back at him, and yet he touched the transparisteel with his fingertips, as if trying to recapture what he had seen.  
And those words – spoken with a voice that was unfamiliar, and yet unmistakable at the same time.  
Anakin shook his head, struggling to clear it. He removed his hand from the viewport, still eyeing his reflected self warily, and then turned towards Padmé, straightening his shoulders and smiling a little. "In that case," he murmured, "you have nothing to worry about."  
His wife merely looked at him in confusion. Anakin strolled over to her side and crouched in front of her hoverchair, ignoring his well-used chair. "If you are determined to do all you can to save Yané from her own pain, then you will succeed. I speak from personal experience," he added with a lopsided grin. His grin widened as Padmé's entire countenance lit up from within, her brown eyes sparkling in that special way he loved, and she lifted a hand to caress his jaw line with her slender fingers.

"Which brings us back to the business at hand." Obi-Wan was apparently done with contemplations – at least for the time being – and wished to resume the meeting. Anakin reluctantly returned to his chair as Padmé glanced at the Jedi Master. "Can we count on Yané's involvement?"  
It was Sabé who answered. "Dormé is reasoning with her now. She is the most compassionate of us, and a neutral party. If she can appeal to Yané's inherent sense of honor and ingrained loyalty – then yes, she will cooperate with the plan."  
Anakin was gnawing on his lower lip, staring hard at the tabletop. Padmé sighed, shaking her head affectionately. "What is it, Ani?" she asked.  
He looked up, blue eyes darting from face to face before settling on the most beautiful. "I can't help but feel uneasy about Yané's part in this," he admitted to Padmé. "I know that you trust her, and I want to, too…but…" he trailed off.  
"Trust is a hard thing to come by, as of late," Obi-Wan remarked grimly. He and Anakin shared a veiled, indecipherable look.  
Padmé's eyes flashed to Sabé, but her friend just shrugged, offering, "He does have a point, Milady. Yané was my friend, as well – but even you have to admit that in light of what she's endured, and how it affects this situation – there is a question of loyalty to the mission." That was a phrase Padmé understood well, for every handmaiden had it drilled into her brain during basic training. If one of them displayed reservations about any mission, be it large or small, life-threatening or simple – she would be deemed disloyal to the mission's objective and removed from position, so another could take her place.

But her resolve was firm and unyielding. "Yané is one of the most skilled strategists I have ever met, second only to the precognitive talents of a Jedi," Padmé asserted. "We need her expertise to work in our favor. And I did offer her the choice to walk away. If she chooses to do so…then we will act accordingly."  
Sabé folded her arms loosely across her chest, and lifted one shoulder. "It's your call. And I can't disagree with your reasoning, because it is sound. But I hope you realize that I do_ not_ intend to let her have free rein until I am absolutely certain that her loyalty is beyond assumption."  
Padmé smiled in spite of herself. "I wouldn't expect any less from you."  
"Speaking of expectations…" Sabé rotated her chair sideways to include Anakin in her all-encompassing gaze. "What will the good Emperor expect of my behavior on Coruscant?"  
Anakin's blue eyes flickered to Padmé, and then back to her decoy in the space of a heartbeat. "Sidious will be expecting some type of deception from Padmé; it's in his very nature, and he assumes that the rest of the galaxy will react in the same manner. You will have to act nervous, even a little jumpy –"  
"– while still pretending that you are _not_ nervous," Padmé finished his sentence. "Remember, I am Palpatine's only link to the location of my child, and that will drive him to proceed with extreme caution. Sorrow will also play a major role in your perceived emotions. In his eyes, I have not only lost the democracy that I have spent my life upholding…but also the man I love, and the child I had hoped that we would raise together." Though it was not true of her reality, Padmé could not mask the sadness that such a scenario birthed inside her heart. Anakin scooted his chair closer, and managed to put his arm around her shoulders. Needing the physical contact as a reminder of what she had not lost, Padmé moved towards him as much as she could, and smiled as their son sighed in his sleep.

Sabé was nodding to herself, assembling a mental inventory of actions and reactions, and was therefore unaware of the wordless communication between husband and wife. She muttered quietly, finishing an unspoken thought, "…and doubtless he will try and test me, to see if I really am who I say that I am – to see if my responses coincide with Padmé's mannerisms." Then she looked up, immediately returning to the conversation. "Is there anyone in the Senate who can vouch for me, whose principles and goals line up with ours?"  
Anakin watched a truly cheerful smile brighten Padmé's face. "Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan. He is an honorable man, and my friend. He is the one that brought Master Yoda here, and he has agreed to help in any way he can. Bail will assist in shielding you from suspicion, and will have a plan in place for your extraction – should the worst happen."  
Anakin stared at her, mildly surprised. "So, he knows? Everything?"  
Padmé knew exactly to what he was referring, and she replied softly, "He already knew, Ani."  
"He did?"  
She laughed at his bewilderment. "He saw us together – that day, in the Rotunda." Her laughter was joined by Sabé's giggles and Obi-Wan's chuckle as Anakin blushed profusely. Padmé touched his nose with a fingertip, her smile angling into a teasing smirk. "Don't be embarrassed. Bail told me that when he realized it was you, with me…he was glad." Obi-Wan and Sabé tactfully looked aside as Padmé whispered in her husband's ear, "He has always respected you, Anakin, and not just because you are a Jedi and a war hero. He respects you as a man of character – even more so, now that he knows about us. He knows that I would not pick just any man to be my husband." She planted a kiss on his reddened cheek and pulled away, glancing over at the others to signal that their discussion could resume.  
But not before Anakin swept her dark curls aside and hissed passionately, "I know _exactly_ why you picked me."  
She shivered involuntarily as his hot breath warmed the side of her throat – but by the time Sabé and Obi-Wan turned their gazes on them, Anakin was sitting innocently in his seat, his arm still resting lightly over Padmé's shoulders. Her cheeks felt flushed, and she fervently hoped that the others would not notice. She used a spare moment to look down and tidy the folds of Luke's blankets, and then glanced up when Sabé said, "Senator Organa's collaboration will be an enormous help to me, and to my cover. Is there anything else I should know?"

Padmé swallowed, and moved uncomfortably in her seat. The Delegation of Two Thousand, the rebellion that Bail and Mon Mothma were sponsoring – that she had helped get off the ground…Anakin did not know how deep her involvement went. Keeping her eyes on her friend, Padmé answered, "You may be questioned, by allies and foes alike, about the Petition of Two Thousand. It was an official request sent to Chancellor Palpatine in regards to reverting the government to its pre-war status. Naturally, Palpatine saw it as a precursor to rebellion. And he was right." The arm around her shoulders stiffened. She forced herself to continue. "Using the Delegation, and its sympathetic Senators as grounding, Bail and Mon Mothma of Chandrila are forming an underground assembly…to combat the influence of the Empire."  
"Organized revolution." Sabé nodded, a feral gleam in her brown eyes. "Ingenious."  
Obi-Wan interjected, "A brave move, but one that is executed at great risk. The Emperor has all the judicial and legal backing to have any suspected traitors put to death."  
Before Sabé could retort, Padmé interceded. "The organization is still in its infancy. It will take time, a huge amount of funding, recruits, leadership, and a great deal of secrecy for it to be able to make any kind of difference in the future."  
"And you know all this because you were a part of its foundation." Anakin's tone was low, and coldly furious. He removed his arm and pointed a finger at her face, accusing, "You didn't tell me. You _should_ have told me. Why didn't you _tell me?"_ His voice rose in volume, and Luke began to stir fretfully. "In the Chancellor's office – when you and the others came in – he told me that you were hiding something, and I _believed_ him, because _you weren't honest with me!"_ The temper that had been sealed tightly inside his body began to eat away at its prison and seep through the cracks. "You told me that you would _never_ do anything that would endanger you or our babies, and then you –!" He broke off, and started again, ranting in classic fashion. "What if you had gotten caught? Do you have _any_ idea what that would do to me? You always made me _promise you,_ every time I left, that I would not do anything reckless when it came to my own life. But _you,_ on the other hand –"

"Yes, _me!_ Me, me,_ me!_ _I_ made this decision, and I am _more_ than capable of judging the consequences – so do _not_ insult my intelligence!" Padmé virtually exploded, and was oblivious as Luke awakened and started to wail in her arms. She slapped Anakin's index finger aside, and jabbed her own in his face, shouting, "Do not talk to me about _honesty,_ Anakin Skywalker! I have had to lie to my parents, my sister, my little nieces, my friends, and everyone I care about to _protect you_ – protect _us!_ And I don't care, because _I love you!_ And what do you do? You – _lied_ – to – _me!_ More than once, you lied! And you think I didn't_ know_ that you were lying? Did you think I was _brainless?!"_ she shrieked, and Leia joined in with Luke's cries. Anakin could only stare wide-eyed at his usually calm wife, stunned into silence by her brutal tirade.  
"And you have the nerve to point your finger at me and accuse _me_ of being reckless," Padmé scoffed. "I put myself into the building of a rebellion because I thought I was _losing everything!_ I had to_ fight_ – and that was the only way I could. I didn't know how to fight to keep you, because _everything_ I tried didn't _work!_ I was _losing you_ – and I thought that by getting rid of that evil man, I could keep you for a while longer." Her eyes were all blurry, making her more annoyed, and she swiped at them furiously. "Do you have _any idea_ how that felt?" Her voice broke, and she felt angry with herself, because her chaotic emotions were ruining her speech. Padmé sniffed, her voice robbed of ire as she murmured hoarsely around the lump in her throat, "I had to fight. I had to…because nothing else mattered without you." The last word came out as a strangled sob, and she clapped her palm over her mouth to stifle the ones that followed.

Anakin and Sabé moved simultaneously; she removed Luke from Padmé's arms and rocked him soothingly, while he took Padmé's face in his hands, stroking the moisture from her cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said, over and over, kissing her eyelids, forehead, and cheeks at random. Her whole body shook with each sob, and Anakin experienced her grief like a gaping hole in his chest. When she had calmed somewhat, he moved back a little to look into her eyes, and asked tenderly, "Are you still angry with me?"  
Padmé glared at him with swollen, blood-shot eyes that still glistened with tears. "Yes," she growled.  
"Do you want to yell at me some more?" he suggested softly, brushing away damp tendrils of hair from her cheeks.  
Her glare melted into a watery half-smile, and confessed, "No." Padmé then threw her arms around Anakin's neck and kissed him hard. He had no choice but to wrap his arms around her waist and respond with his own fervor. He struggled for breath as she broke off; pressing their foreheads together, Padmé muttered in a low, husky voice, "I'm sorry, too. I love you, Anakin – but sometimes, you drive me absolutely insane." He chuckled, thinking that it was safe to do so now, and to his relief, Padmé laughed quietly, as well. Anakin would have liked to kiss her again, but the subtle sound of a clearing throat caused them to move apart. Padmé looked sheepishly over at Sabé. "Is Luke all right?"  
"He's fine. Other than having temporary hearing loss, that is."  
Padmé rolled her eyes in response as Obi-Wan commented, "I didn't realize that you had such a volatile temper, Padmé. You and Anakin have more in common than I thought." There was a peculiar inflection in the Jedi Master's mild observation, and Anakin's eyebrow arched speculatively. It seemed to him that his old friend knew more about their bond than he let on – as it was apparent that Obi-Wan had determined that he and Padmé were mimicking one another's natural emotional reactions.

A shaft of yellow-white light abruptly cut across the center of the conference table, and five heads turned in the direction of the doorway. "Forgive me for interrupting, Milady," Dormé announced from the threshold, silhouetted by the bright glow. "I have news about Yané."  
The playful atmosphere in the room evaporated, and Padmé motioned Dormé inside. The faithful handmaiden closed the door behind her and approached the group, clasping her hands in front of her. "What news?" Padmé asked.  
"Yané has agreed to stay and participate in your plan –" A chorus of relieved sighs filled the room. " – but I am afraid that she has a condition."  
Sabé looked incredulous. Obi-Wan simply raised an eyebrow, and Anakin's blue eyes flashed with fire. Padmé remained professionally expressionless, and said, "And this condition…?"  
Dormé's wide brown eyes were filled with apprehension. "She wants to speak to you. Alone."  
"That's it?" Anakin asked dubiously. Sabé was already shaking her head, knowing exactly which direction this was heading. Yané was anything if not cunning. That was what made her a great strategist.  
"She said…she said that she would speak with you alone, Milady, and that you must tell her only truth from the moment you enter the room." Dormé winced in apology. "Her exact words, Milady."  
Anakin bristled. "She has no right to –"  
"Tell her that I accept," Padmé declared evenly, her chin held high.  
"What?" Anakin exclaimed as Dormé nodded, curtseyed, and quickly left the room.

Padmé laid her palm on Anakin's chest, in its customary place over his heart. "I have nothing to hide from her, Ani. In fact, it's something I should have told her long ago." He began to sputter refusals, but she interrupted soothingly, "She deserves the truth from her friend, which is what I am. If she wishes harm me, she will do so verbally. And I can handle a bit of verbal sparring." She grinned lopsidedly – a near-perfect imitation of his trademark grin.  
"I know, but –"  
"Shh." She pressed a finger over his lips, shushing him gently. "You don't trust her; I know. But you trust me. So trust me that I know what I am doing." Padmé removed her finger, only to touch her lips to his briefly, and then she spun her hoverchair towards the door. "Look after the twins," she called. Sabé waved one-handed in reply, and exchanged a long, meaningful look with Obi-Wan. The decoy certainly hoped that her friend knew what she was getting herself into; in Sabé's experience, a person who is confronted by another who has achieved all that they had wished for themselves has two options. One, to be genuinely glad for the other person and go on with their life – or two, become absorbed by jealousy and seek to sabotage the other person's happiness.

So Padmé believed that the Yané they all knew and loved was still inside that stone-faced woman.  
Sabé sincerely hoped that she was right. Because if not… She glanced sideways at Anakin, who was staring blankly into space as if trying to figure out what had just happened. Then she glanced at the Jedi Master, who kept looking worriedly at the closed portal and at the tiny baby in his arms.  
If not…then Yané was about to make some very dangerous enemies.  
Sabé looked down, into the curious blue stare of Padmé's son, and mumbled, "I hope your mother knows what she's doing, Luke. Or we will be in _serious_ trouble."


	22. The Spaces Between Us

**Chapter Seventeen  
**_**The Spaces Between Us**_

The first emotion that wells up within a person's heart when the tips of their feet reach the edge of a cliff, and their eyes involuntarily drift downwards to peer over the drop-off – no matter what they may say or do – is pure terror. The ground below seems to loom dangerously, as if daring one to jump – or it communes in silent intimidation, forcing the person to back away. In either case, one is faced with a choice. To retreat from that daunting precipice and maybe never approach it again, or grind one's heels into the sharp rock and look out to the horizon.  
As Padmé followed the long hallway that would soon lead her to Yané and the inevitable confrontation, she began to wonder that if she continued to stand on that unpredictable verge – would the ground suddenly crumble beneath her feet.

Dark brown orbs flickered sideways. In her peripheral view, Padmé saw that Dormé glided smoothly beside her hoverchair, her eyes fixed straight ahead as she guided them to their destination. But her friend's entire body was coiled tighter than a whip, ready to snap at a moment's notice. Padmé considered the possible reasons for the normally mild-mannered handmaiden to react physically to their present circumstances, and made a decision. She deliberately slowed the repulsors in her hoverchair, and Dormé glanced at her with surprise. "All right," Padmé remarked, looking up at her with raised eyebrows. "Let's have it."  
Dormé blinked. "Milady?"  
"Tell me what's troubling you. And don't bother denying it," Padmé added when Dormé immediately opened her mouth to speak, "I can tell." She crossed her arms over her chest, and waited with an obviously expectant expression on her face.  
A soft sigh drifted from between Dormé's lips. "Yané is very…unpredictable, Milady. When I spoke with her, she shifted from one emotion to another as easily as blinking an eye. And I have no doubt that she is quite brilliant, and watchful as a hawk. After she had calmed down, her eyes began measuring me – weighing my words against my facial expressions and body language as if I were a potential threat and not a fellow handmaiden. Regardless, I had expected as much from her; our time en-route to this colony provided valuable insight into her behavior. But I did see something that I did not expect." Dormé paused a moment, and the worry she felt for her dear friend and charge flooded her brown eyes. "Yané was trained to be a silent observer; but the way she sat as I spoke…so perfectly still that only her eyes moved, like she was listening beyond my words to something deeper… It was like sitting before a Jedi."

Padmé met Dormé's anxious stare calmly, and said, "She kept close company with a Jedi for a number of years, Dormé – she would have begun to mimic some of his reactions and stances unconsciously, because of her training." She smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. I have had plenty of experience with Jedi, and whether Yané does it intentionally or not, she will not intimidate me by using their mannerisms."  
The rigid lines of Dormé's posture visibly relaxed, and a small smile graced the corners of her mouth. Wordlessly, the handmaiden gestured with an open palm, and the two women resumed their journey through the labyrinthine corridors of the MedCenter.  
After a dozen or so paces in silence, Padmé studied their surroundings with the spark of recognition lighting her gaze. "Are we heading for the hangar bay?" she inquired, glancing up at her companion.  
"This is where I found Yané after she ran from the conference room," Dormé explained in her quiet, placid way. "I knew that the ship would be the only place that she truly felt safe. And I believe that is the reason she wants to meet with you there."  
Padmé nodded, speaking more to herself than to Dormé. "A controlled environment. One that she feels comfortable in, and one that I am unfamiliar with – to see if she can throw me off-balance." She shook her head, a mixture of appreciation and disapproval coloring her thoughts. It was the oldest political trick in the book: when seeking truth from a prospective ally, especially given that past interactions have proven to be layered with falsehoods – a diplomat will choose an arena that is comfortable to them, but previously unknown to their opponent. A new environment may cause the other to feel disconcerted, and therefore more likely to make a mistake if attempting to feed the opposing side erroneous information.  
"What does she expect of me?" Padmé murmured under her breath. _Does she even know me at all, to think that I would deliberately deceive her?_ she lamented inwardly.A chill slithered up her spinal column, and raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. _Or am _I_ the one who does not truly know _her?

Lost in the shadowy mire of disconcerting speculation, Padmé remained quiet, and only distantly aware of her surroundings as she and Dormé journeyed down the metal-paneled hallway, through the hangar bay control room, and into the small turbolift.  
When the door hissed open, the two friends disembarked, glancing furtively at one another. The steady clicks of Dormé's shoes and the whirring hum of the hoverchair echoed ominously in the hangar bay. They halted at the base of the Stingray's boarding ramp, and Dormé turned to address Padmé. "She is waiting for you in the main hold. Go up the ramp, to the left, and around the first curve." She paused, a flicker of indecision darkening the contours of her face, and then she leaned over, muttering rapidly, "There are no weapons on board – I had Rabé remove them earlier, and I disconnected the engines from the ship's main power grid." Dormé winced in apology as Padmé stared up at her in astonishment. "I felt that it was necessary to take every precaution, Milady."  
Padmé simply nodded, overwhelmed by her old friend's statement – and suddenly felt more than a little uneasy about this meeting with Yané. Everyone else was obviously expecting some type of confrontation, and one that might ultimately involve violence. Padmé was not naïve; she realized long before she left the conference room that a conversation with Yané would most likely become a thinly veiled hostile interrogation. But she was still Senator Amidala, and was therefore not a woman who could be easily intimidated by possibilities of conflict – be it verbal or physical.  
She maneuvered her hoverchair up the boarding ramp, and at about halfway to the ship she turned around. "Why don't you head back to the conference room and take the twins back to my room? You seemed to be getting along fine with Leia," Padmé added with a slight smile. "Just tell Anakin that I asked you to stay with them; I'm sure he, Obi-Wan, and Sabé have other matters to attend to now."  
Dormé curtsied – she never could shake that old habit – and walked back towards the turbolift. Padmé watched her until she vanished behind the closing door, and drew in a slow, quiet breath. Then she swiveled the hoverchair around and glided into the Stingray's interior. It was everything that she expected it to be; polished, immaculately clean, and styled in a way that seemed fashionable and functional at the same time. The overhead glow panels beamed a crisp, pale blue light that reminded her vaguely of the color of Anakin's lightsaber blade. Padmé followed Dormé's directions perfectly, and as soon as she rounded the first curve, she entered an open area that looked to be the ship's cargo hold. Bulkheads gleamed a bright silver, and the hold was empty – except for an elegantly carved table crafted out of honey-blonde wood, and two chairs, one of which was occupied by the motionless form of a dark-haired woman who was watching Padmé's entrance with eyes that were as empty as the cargo hold.

The trace of a smile flitted across Yané's lips, but there was no warmth behind the expression. Instead, it could only be described as a mockery of a smile – a twisted, strange interpretation by a face that seemed incapable of displaying any emotion. Her brown eyes were hollow as she remarked lightly, "I was wondering if they were going to let you come. But I knew that you could convince them."  
Padmé kept her expression politely blank, but she shivered inside. Yané's words were simple enough, but the tone behind them was saturated with cynicism, and as ice-cold as the constant blizzards that engulfed the planet Hoth. She waited until her chair reached the edge of the table, directly across from her old friend, before she formed a neutral reply. "No one needed convincing, Yané. You are my friend. You wanted to speak with me – so here I am."  
The jaded mask slipped just a little, but then Yané snorted softly and looked down at her hands, resting on the tabletop. She seemed to be studying something that she held between her fingers, but Padmé could not tell what it was. "Friend. The meaning of that term seems to be the cause of some discrepancy. Did you know – " she changed topics abruptly, and Padmé struggled to follow, " – that Dormé's friend on Hapes gave her this table as a farewell gift? It's made from myrri wood, an expensive export from the rainforests of Gallinore. The designer is highly sought-after in the Consortium; this table is one of a kind." She ran a palm over its smooth surface for emphasis, and glanced up, studying Padmé with feigned curiosity. But Padmé was not fooled. Yané was waiting for a reaction – a specific reaction that she was hoping to trigger by her seemingly flippant phrases. As to what that reaction might be, Padmé had no idea.

The Senator of Naboo constructed her response with precision, keeping her tone mild. "That was very generous of her. Sometimes friends give gifts as a show of appreciation, or perhaps in the hope that they themselves will not be forgotten by the receiver. Though there are some friendships that are not marked by any visible signs…and the reasons for its clandestine nature cannot be shared, even to those who are deemed trustworthy." Wide brown eyes blinked solemnly, waiting to see if the inference was noticed.  
Clearly, it was. The dark eyes across the table hardened into shards of granite, and the slim hands resting on the table's surface tightened convulsively around the hidden object. Yané drew in a deep breath, willing her hands to loosen, and then tacked on a tiny smile. "I suppose those reasons you speak of differ greatly from person to person. Or perhaps it is fear that drives some to clutch their secrets like a frightened child in the dark – holding on so desperately to something that, once revealed, may become easier to bear. I wonder…" She leaned forward, and Padmé inwardly braced herself, recognizing the precursor of an attack, "Is it fear that the secret will be exposed that compels one to silence – or fear that its discovery will make the secret less attractive? That perhaps the…_excitement_ of such a secret was really the driving force behind this 'friendship', as you said? That the feeling of – rebellion, of forbidden pleasures, was what one was afraid to lose? What would become of such a friendship, do you think?" Yané's pupils dilated, like a firaxa shark scenting blood in the water, and waited for her sword thrust to pierce its target.  
The stab went deep; Yané's rationalization was off, but the essential point was correct. Padmé had been incredibly selfish in regard to her relationship with Anakin, though it was not from the thrill of consummating a marriage right under the very perceptive nose of the Jedi Council. Rather, it was the simple fact that the most gifted Jedi in the Order, the heroic figurehead of the Republic, and the recipient of a powerful yet obscure prophecy, treasured her so much that he was willing to lead a double life – all for the sake of giving his love and accepting hers wholeheartedly.  
_That _was what she had been so afraid of losing.

Padmé ignored the pain of her old friend's spoken innuendo; she refused to give Yané the satisfaction of seeing her wince…and she had endured far worse pain in recent weeks. She also knew that she needed to reply, and quickly, or Yané would think that she was caught off-guard. "A friendship," Padmé paused briefly, ordering her thoughts, "or any relationship that is built merely upon the feelings of the individual, is doomed to fall. One must be willing to sacrifice one's own personal feelings to reinforce another's. But to answer your earlier question, about whether it is fear that compels us to keep secrets… Yes, and no. Yes, because many secrets can be harmful in countless ways, especially to those whom the secret may be protecting – and no, because there are circumstances in which secrets are unavoidable, and so it is not fear that sustains them, but necessity."  
Yané's chilly smile faded, and then suddenly widened just noticeably. "Touché." She inclined her head, her eyes never straying from Padmé's, and said, "I grant you that some secrets are necessary – but how does one justify which secrets should be kept exclusive, and which should be revealed? Some choices are quite obvious, but others become mired in the entanglements of inconsequential matters. Do you not think that a secret that affects more than one life – that may be repeated in another's life – should be offered as a show of honesty?"  
"An excellent question. To which I ask another: If by offering this secret, does one prove their honesty – or leave themselves open to condemnation?" Padmé delivered this with all the finesse of a Jedi Master wielding a lightsaber in a duel. Her expression was an iron mask, civil and blank, though the velvet-brown irises of her eyes crackled with golden sparks.

Her blow crashed through Yané's defenses, and they both knew it. The former handmaiden leaned back in her chair, touching her forehead in a mock-salute. "I will not dance around the issue anymore. I am surprised to have made it this far against a Galactic Senator. I trust that Dormé delivered my message in its entirety when she came to you?" Padmé nodded silently. "Then you know that my condition is that you speak only truth – and I will do the same," Yané concluded. She began fiddling idly once again with the object in her hands, and it flashed in the light of the cargo hold's glow panels. Padmé's gaze narrowed, scrutinizing its shape. It looked to be some sort of jewel or crystal.  
Yané noticed her stare – her sharp eyes never missed anything – and her fingers halted in mid-motion. Balancing an elbow on the tabletop, she held the mysterious object between thumb and forefinger, displaying it for Padmé. "It's a lightsaber focusing crystal." Yané flicked her wrist, and the uncut gem shimmered a pale yellow-orange, like a summer sky at dawn. "Cian gave it to me the day before he left for his first campaign in the war. He was so excited; his Master had told him to begin assembling the needed parts for a lightsaber, for he believed that a Jedi Knight's blade should be different from a Padawan's. He grew the crystals himself in an apparatus in his chambers, and this one had formed from the same root as another."  
Padmé listened and studied Yané in quiet amazement. As soon as the other woman mentioned Cian's name, her entire countenance underwent a drastic change. The ice melted away from her elegant features, and they became soft, tinged with wistfulness and remembered joy, as if speaking of the man she loved had unburied the light within her soul.

Yané continued in her musings, her face alight with the glow of happier times. "He managed to pull them apart without damaging each crystal's interior. He gave one to me, and used the other for his new lightsaber. When he showed the completed weapon to me, it was so beautiful – like the sunrise. He was so proud, and so certain that before the war was over, Master Cam would induct him into Knighthood." The glow started to wane, and shadows covered the planes of her face, darkening her eyes. "He told me that the crystals growing as one was a sign – a sign from the Force – that we were meant to be together. And just like his lightsaber hung at his side, I was to keep mine with me at all times, and it was a symbol of our promise: that he would come back from every mission, and I would be waiting for him."  
By the time the last sentence left her lips, the frozen mask was back in place, and her level gaze wavered for just an instant while an eyebrow arched high on her forehead. "I see that you have something similar to my crystal. A reminder, as it were, of your own promise."  
Unconsciously, the fingertips of Padmé's left hand reached up and brushed the japor pendant hanging over her breastbone, briefly tracing the carved runes. Though the Senator made no reply, Yané observed the motion in silence, taking it as a confirmation of her previous statement. "I can remember the first time you wore that pendant," the former handmaiden said, her tone reflective. "We were preparing for the Senate meeting to address the Trade Federation blockade of Naboo. Eirtaé was helping you dress, and she noticed it when you changed out of the handmaiden gown. When she asked, you told her that it had been a gift from Anakin – 'so I would always remember him,' you had said. Sabé teased you then, saying that it was unfair to give the boy false hope, and we all laughed when you blushed." The smile in her voice flexed her full lips. "You said, 'I want to wear it as a reminder of his courage, his determination to succeed…'"  
"'…And he said that it would bring me good fortune. Which we can definitely use right now.'" Padmé finished softly, her dark gaze lost in ruminations of the past. When she focused back on Yané, her eyes became wary, and the creamy skin around them tightened. She had a very strong indication of where this contest of wills was heading, and it was a direction she was not prepared to take.

Her sense of foreboding grew tenfold as Yané steeped her fingers under her chin and remarked, "Your childhood friendship with Anakin sowed the seed of a future romance. Despite your knowledge of Jedi standards, you cultivated an albeit brief relationship that he apparently cherished all the way to adolescence." The flatness of her unwavering stare hid the repressed emotion churning inside while she questioned idly, "Is that how you fostered your feelings for each other – by drawing upon your memories of amity as children?"  
Padmé's hands clenched into fists atop her lap, anger flaring sharply in her heart, and she fought for calm. "You believe that I _encouraged_ him to ignore his obligation to the Jedi," her tone was relatively level, but undeniably interlaced with traces of venom, "and enter into an intimate relationship with me?"  
"Of course not, Milady!" Yané's eyes rounded in surprise – yet it had to be feigned, for there was no mistaking the ghost of a triumphant grin that flitted across her mouth. "I know that you are morally grounded and maintain a great deal of integrity, especially among your more unscrupulous fellow Senators." A predatory gleam filled her gaze, and she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low, quick murmur. "Which is why I am _so_ curious to learn the reason behind your choice to abandon your uncompromising principles and marry a man who by all rights you would never have considered a potential suitor if not for your entangled history. He always had a special place for you in his heart, even as a young boy. And I _know_ that he and Master Kenobi were assigned to your security detail after that second attempt on your life.  
Do you remember? I pulled you aside and told you that the Jedi would become involved, but it was not until the following day that I found out which Jedi had been called upon to protect you. Is that when it happened? It must have been; you said earlier that you have been married for nearly four years. So, is that the reason?"

Padmé was silent. Her teeth were clamped so tightly together that her whole jaw ached, and the fisted hands resting on her lap trembled with rage. If Yané had sought to anger her, she was most definitely succeeding. Padmé felt as if her entire being was split in two, and were at war within her – each half wanting to react in a completely opposite manner. One part of her was frigid and still, like the surface of a frozen pond in winter. The other practically screamed for a counterattack, the heat of unbridled ire scalding the fringes of her mind. Fire and ice, existing inside of her at the same time.  
It was in that instant, when the extreme sides of her soul were wrestling for control, that she heard him.  
He was calling her name – and his voice was saturated with concern as it echoed within the deep recesses of her mind, originating from the space that was now reserved only for him.  
Padmé breathed in the short-lived lull created by their contact through the bond, and realized that she still had a choice to make. So she made the only one that made sense. She submerged herself in the ice – the cold, firm resolve in which she had always trusted to aid her in keeping a level head during confrontations.  
Glancing downward, she willed the white-knuckled fists to smooth out, and then her palms lay flat and passive on her thighs.  
"Is that the reason?" A harsh, impatient edge cut into Yané's repeated question.  
A pair of dark brown eyes flared open, fixing the other woman with a hard glare. Padmé worked her jaw from side to side briefly before replying – and when she did, each word was weighted and deliberate.  
"I refuse to debate ethics with you, Yané. My reason for marrying Anakin Skywalker is just that – _mine._ Therefore, it has no standing in our conversation."

Yané blinked, clearly taken aback. The emotionless mask stayed firmly in place upon her features, but the liquid-onyx pupils of her eyes began to smolder. "I believe that it does," she stated curtly.  
Padmé spread her arms wide in a gesture of exasperation. "What is it that you want from me?"  
"The truth."  
"About what?"  
The handmaiden's jaw tensed into a hard line under the blue-white gleam of the overhead panels. "You know what," Yané hissed, civility disintegrating from her tone like walls of sand in the evening tide.  
Padmé recognized all of the signs: Yané was allowing her strong feelings on this subject to hold sway over her thinking. If Padmé wanted to discover a peaceful resolution to this conflict, then she needed to proceed very carefully. Any carelessly used word misplaced in a single sentence would be like stepping on a land mine. She sighed, "I was afraid, and selfish. I have lived most of my adult life in the public eye, and that is a very dangerous spot for a Jedi who is willfully breaking the rules to dwell. And…I finally had something so special, something more important to me than anything else. I did not want to share it with anyone, except him."  
The fire in Yané's eyes had begun to spread, consuming her gaze and setting it ablaze as it melted the mask concealing her true face. "You did not trust me. I trusted you with _my_ everything – _my_ most important thing – and you _held your tongue,_ letting me punish myself with thoughts that I was ruining his life's dream by saving a place for him in my heart."  
"I have always trusted you, Yané," Padmé murmured with compassion, her expression softening.

There was a resounding crash. Yané was on her feet, her chair flung halfway across the cargo hold. She stood in its place, quivering with fury, hands balled into fists at her sides as she stared down at Padmé. "Do not _lie_ to me," she choked out, the words shivering between her lips.  
"I am not lying, Yané. You demanded that I speak only truth, and I have done so."  
Two palms slapped the table's surface with surprising force. Yané leaned in, her beautiful features twisted into a furious snarl, and spat, "You lied to me then. And a lie by omission is just as damaging as an intentional lie."  
Padmé did not even flinch. She was as motionless as a statue in the face of Yané's anger. "Yes, I lied to you two years ago when I did not tell you about my relationship with Anakin. And I am sorry. But I was referring to the present when I said I was not lying to you. I trust you, Yané – I always have. If I did not, would you be here now? Would I have asked you to safeguard my most precious secret with your life? You know the answer."  
Hot tears filled the handmaiden's blazing eyes, leaving shimmering trails of moisture on her cheeks. "Why didn't you tell me?" The question came out as a strangled whisper.  
"I already told you that truth," Padmé's voice was soft and flowing as silk, and the overwhelming compassion shining in her gaze was nearly too much for her old friend to bear. "And I will offer another: I, too, have punished myself with guilt. I have lain awake too many nights, tortured by thoughts of my husband dying, of our love being discovered and his inevitable expulsion from the Order. I suffered alone because I felt that I had no other choice, though I regret to this day that I could not help more in the midst of your pain." Yané jerked, startled, as a warm hand came to rest on hers. "The tragedy on Jabiim has haunted me since that terrible day – and though he hides his scars well, Anakin still carries the burden of being the only Jedi to survive by a course of events that he defines as cowardly." Padmé's eyelids prickled, and her vision blurred. "I wish that Cian had come back to you, as Anakin did to me. I wish that you did not have to be alone in your memories of him."  
Yané turned her head swiftly, looking aside. "I don't want your pity," she muttered, but the phrase was robbed of its bitterness by the catch in her voice.  
Padmé continued as if she had not spoken. "More than anything, I wish that I could give you a reason for that which is beyond my ability to comprehend." She finished in the barest whisper, "To give you a reason why death claimed your Jedi and not mine."

A gasping sob ripped into the stagnant air, and Yané seemed to collapse from within. The mask of frozen emptiness slid from her face and shattered on the metallic floor as she staggered backwards, shivering uncontrollably. Wrapping her arms around herself, she fell to the ground, teardrops splashing onto her clothes and the metal-plated floor. Without the slightest hesitation, Padmé wheeled the hoverchair around the table, pushed her body out of its cushioned seat, and joined her friend on the floor – just as she had that morning beside the Jedi Temple.  
Yané felt the gentle, slender arms coil around her shoulders, and her final thread of self-discipline snapped. She threw her arms around Padmé, sobbing more desperately than she had when first learning of Cian's death. The sound of her grief resonated throughout the vacant ship, while silent tears slid down Padmé's cheeks as she embraced her friend.  
After a few minutes, broken sentences began to fill the gaps between her cries and breaths of air. "H-he br-broke his promise, Padmé! He p-promised to always c-come back…but he d-didn't. They n-never found his b-body – I sliced into the Temple's archives and ch-checked their c-casualty reports. They assumed he was d-dead because they found his lightsaber in the canyon, and he never c-contacted Anakin on the comm before the evacuation." She sniffed, her words not as disjointed as she continued, "The last time I saw him – I begged him not to go. I told myself that I would never m-make him choose between me and the Order…but I knew the hostility permeating the Jabiim system. Even a Jedi presence would not be enough to stem the tide of hatred there." Yané pulled away a little so that she could see Padmé's face. "You know what he told me? He said that I had no reason to worry, because –" the barest hint of a smile tilted her mouth " – because Obi-Wan Kenobi and the Chosen One were joining their contingent a few days after deployment, and the Force would guarantee victory." Her smile widened, and it was a genuine expression, though her dark eyes were clouded by sorrow. "Cian held your husband in high esteem – all the Jedi did. When he and Master Kenobi arrived, it was the first time Cian had spoken to Anakin, and he remembered it well. He recorded a holo-message for me that night, describing it in great detail." Yané's gaze sparked with curiosity. "Did Anakin ever mention it to you?"

"No," Padmé shook her head, slightly puzzled. When she had related the story, Anakin had acted as though he had never heard the name Cian Wynn, despite the fact that Obi-Wan had recognized it immediately. If he and Cian had had a conversation on Jabiim, why wouldn't Anakin tell her?  
Yané looked crestfallen, so Padmé amended softly, "But Anakin doesn't like to talk about the war – Jabiim, especially. He considers it one of his failures."  
"Why? He was planning to win the war on his own?"  
"He thought it was expected of him," Padmé shrugged.  
Yané nodded seriously. "I had heard of the disputes among members of the Jedi Order, wondering if and when Anakin would destroy the Sith and bring so-called balance to the Force. Cian was quite firm in his belief. 'Anakin Skywalker is the Chosen One, and his destiny will come when the Force wills it,'" she quoted. "Though I suppose having a destiny is not the blessing most would perceive it to be."  
Padmé averted her gaze, an uncomfortable twinge unfolding in the pit of her stomach. Anakin's prophesized destiny had made him a target for the Sith – not for elimination, but for conversion. A conversion that had cost hundreds of Jedi their lives, the freedom of a galaxy, and the sacrifice of one man's soul. She knew that Anakin still claimed single-handed responsibility for the carnage within the Temple, and though she had forgiven him, and the remaining Masters had pardoned his transgressions…he would blame himself until he found a remedy that would ease his immense guilt.

The discerning, watchful gaze of a handmaiden caught the shift in her mood. Yané adjusted her posture slightly, and the seriousness of her expression intermingled with grim certainty. "It's true, isn't it – what the Emperor said about Anakin's death. He was in the Temple that day. But he was not fighting against traitors to the Republic. _He_ was the traitor."  
Padmé could form no reply. She simply nodded once, eyes burning with the sting of unshed tears. Suddenly, her head snapped up, and she exclaimed pleadingly, "He is no longer on that path, Yané – he has renounced his loyalty to Palpatine and is seeking redemption with the help of Obi-Wan and Master Yoda. He is not the same person anymore."  
"I know." Yané reached out and took Padmé's hand, holding it in both of hers. "I can tell that the Masters do not perceive him as a threat – and I also know that if he were a Sith, he would not be here with you." She mused thoughtfully, "Cian would tell me a great deal about the Force – the philosophies of the Jedi Order, his own theories, and his views on the dark side. It was his opinion that once a Jedi embraces the dark side, they become another person – one that is concerned only with obtaining more power and learns to ignore, or kill, their conscience. I do not see that kind of disposition in Anakin." She patted Padmé's knuckles and smiled. That smile literally transformed her right in front of Padmé's eyes, and at last she glimpsed her friend, hidden for so long behind the shattered mask. "What I have seen in Anakin is that he loves you, unconditionally, and he loves his children. You may not know the reason why this fate has chosen you, Milady, but I think that you should be deeply thankful that it did."

"I am so very sorry about Cian, Yané." Padmé finally found her voice, and spoke quietly, "I know how much you loved him."  
The smile stayed in place, yet became tinged with melancholy sadness. Her shoulders rose in a light shrug as Yané murmured, "I already know the reason why the Force spared Anakin and not Cian. The purpose of the Chosen One far outweighs the purpose of any one Jedi. Anakin did not perish with the others on Jabiim because he is needed here; the shape of his destiny has not yet been determined. And I know that Cian would agree with me. So…" Yané enclosed her crystal in her right hand, laying it over her heart. "It is in honor of his memory and our friendship that I vow – I am with you."  
Padmé surrounded the young woman in a warm hug, wordlessly conveying her gratitude. After a few moments, they helped one another rise from the cold metallic floor, and Padmé sank into the hoverchair with a sigh. Yané, once she was confident that her friend was situated comfortably, strode over to the fallen chair and carried it back to the table. When she stumbled about mid-way, nearly losing her balance, Padmé gripped the arms of her chair and sat forward in alarm. "Are you all right?" she cried.  
Yané recovered her footing swiftly, set the chair upright and pushed it underneath the table. She grinned sheepishly and approached, brushing imaginary dust off her fitted blue pants. "I'm fine, Milady. I haven't been eating well lately and it's finally catching up with me."  
"What have you been eating?" Padmé demanded.  
"Military ration capsules," she answered reluctantly, fidgeting under Padmé's admonishing glare.  
"When was the last time you had a _decent_ meal?" Padmé pressed, raising her eyebrows.

Yané swallowed hard, and replied meekly, "Four days ago." She cringed at her friend's disbelieving, outraged expression, and defended herself. "My appetite hasn't been the same for a long time, and I've been very busy with – my work." She had hesitated for a heartbeat, but Padmé did not push for clarification. Instead, she snagged Yané's forearm, rotated her hoverchair, and started for the main corridor. Yané bent over at an odd angle, staggering alongside her. "What are you doing?"  
"We're getting you something to eat." The statement left no room for negotiation. Padmé floated into the main hold, fairly shoved Yané into a seat, and then began rummaging through the cabinets, muttering to herself. "This is a high-class Hapan vessel; there should be plenty of quality food in storage."  
A pile of items materialized upon her lap as she dug into cupboards and shelves, and she set them down with a flourish in front of Yané. "Eat," she commanded.  
Dutifully, the handmaiden chose a container of mixed fruit and peeled away the airtight seal. A set of eating utensils had been placed beside the bounty of food, and she picked up the fork, spearing a slice of some pale green fruit. As she chewed, Padmé moved closer to the small utility table and watched Yané's progress with a steady glower, crossing her arms over her chest.  
Then, to Yané's astonishment, she plucked a piece from the container and dropped it in her mouth. "You're staying?" Yané asked before she could stop herself.  
Padmé looked at her as though the answer were ridiculously obvious. "Someone has to make sure that you get the proper nutrition."  
Bell-like echoes of their laughter could be heard throughout the hangar bay for many minutes to follow.

------------

_Patience. Use the Force. Think.  
_Anakin _really_ wanted to tell the Obi-Wan reciting that advice within his memory to shut up and leave him alone. His wife had not been gone for more than a few minutes, and it already felt like a lifetime. He had begun pacing the length of the conference room, following the curve of the viewport, and it helped relieve his tension – a little. Anakin's long, powerful legs ate up the limited distance in two dozen strides – back and forth, back and forth – while his brain literally hummed with an overwhelming multitude of thoughts.  
He stared at the floor, watching his dark boots tread along the carpeting; he felt his old Master's eyes on him, and the silent rebuke that was undoubtedly clear in Obi-Wan's gaze. But Anakin had no desire, nor the energy, to meet that gaze. He would much rather concentrate on the link forged between his soul and Padmé's, monitoring the flux of her emotions as best he could, alert for the slightest change.

Obi-Wan watched Anakin's broad-shouldered form march back and forth until the movement became like that of a swinging pendulum, lulling him into a monotonous stupor. He shook himself, blinking rapidly, and fought the intense urge to roll his eyes at his old friend's antics. Patience had never been one of Anakin's strong points, but with the arrival of two newborn lives into his existence, one would think that he would at least _attempt_ to master the concept. Instead, the young man behaved like a caged animal, a look of deep concentration on his face as he stared at the unchanging ground. The Jedi Master sighed heavily, about to chide Anakin – when a soft stirring in his arms caused him to glance downward in surprise.  
Distracted by his former Padawan, Obi-Wan had forgotten about the tiny infant reclining trustingly against his chest. Leia Skywalker stared at him with large brown eyes, quiet and curious. A barely formed wisp of thought touched him in the Force, and Obi-Wan got the impression that Anakin's daughter was trying to determine who he was and why he was holding her instead of one of her parents.  
He smiled gently, and murmured in a low voice, "Hello there." Leia's small head cocked ever so slightly, considering him with her strangely intent eyes. Obi-Wan reached out with the Force, deliberately using his feelings of delight and affection for the little girl to convince her untrained mind that she was safe with him. A chime of silvery laughter bubbled out of Leia, her rosebud mouth opened in a wide smile.  
Obi-Wan smiled broadly in return, pleased and somewhat amazed by the child's innate sensitivity. "It's nice to meet you, Leia," he said softly, "My name is Obi-Wan."  
Of course, all Leia was capable of doing was to continue smiling, her essence sparkling with childish delight, like sunlit ripples on the water. Obi-Wan took this opportunity to study her, marveling at how much she resembled Padmé – the same dark brown eyes, the thick, silky tresses covering her head with just a hint of curl that would someday mirror her mother's long ringlets, and even her curiosity about him had been tinted with Padmé's calm sincerity.  
He wondered then, if Leia had inherited so many admirable qualities from her mother – what exactly had she received from her father, besides his extraordinary strength in the Force?

The little one in his arms twitched suddenly, just as a squeaky cry echoed from across the table. Obi-Wan glanced up at Sabé, who was standing on the opposite side of the room from Anakin, bouncing Leia's twin in her arms and trying to hush his crying. "Shh…shh… It's all right, it's all right," she chanted softly, but to no avail. Leia shifted in her blankets, her expression crinkling into a frown – a response to her brother's distress as it resonated through the Force. The last thing they needed was _two_ inconsolable babies on their hands, so Obi-Wan clambered to his feet and walked towards Sabé.  
"Here, I'll take him," he volunteered. Sabé blinked at him, surprised, but nevertheless switched with him and took Leia with her to the nearest chair, falling into it gratefully. Luke continued to wail ceaselessly, his eyelids squeezed shut as two tiny fists waved in the air. Obi-Wan returned to his seat, ignoring the boy's cries while he made certain that Luke was tucked firmly into his embrace. Then, as he had done with Leia, the Jedi Master shaped his feelings into a tendril of Force energy and brushed against Luke's mind.  
Anakin's son fell immediately silent, his tear-stained eyes opening wide to meet Obi-Wan's gaze – and in that instant, an answer to a prevailing mystery was unveiled.  
Luke Skywalker had his father's eyes.

The same intense, ice-blue orbs peered out of the little boy's face, still flushed crimson from his howling, and Obi-Wan was shaken to his core. His dream – the one that he had seen while the skiff was en-route to Polis Massa – the only thing he could remember about it was a child with Anakin's eyes. And now that child was here, lying in his arms. It was…he could not think of a word to describe it.  
A flicker of thought darted across the fringes of Obi-Wan's perception, and with another jolt, he realized that he recognized the pattern – just as the Force Sensitive projecting it recognized him. With wide eyes he stared down at Luke. It had been _him_; it was this child's unborn mind that had contacted him three days ago on the skiff, while he struggled to repair his connection to the Force. This boy had reached out to him without any training at all, using only the basest of instincts to communicate with the outside world.  
Obi-Wan was incredibly glad that he was sitting down, or else he was sure that he would have collapsed by now. The flicker paused, hovering on the edge of his awareness, and Obi-Wan extended himself towards it cautiously. For the most fleeting of seconds, their minds connected – and it was as though an electrical current traveled across their point of contact. Luke's innocent expression was brightened by a wide, toothless smile, and Obi-Wan grinned back, teetering on the verge of awe. "Hello, Luke." His voice quivered slightly, but the gleam in his blue-grey eyes never dimmed. "It's nice to finally meet you. My name is Obi-Wan." The eldest Skywalker child made happy gurgling noises, and Obi-Wan gazed intently into his face, secretly inquiring, _what secrets do you hold, little one? What paths have you and your sister taken within the currents of the universe? What wisdom can you give your father as he strives to fulfill his destiny?_ A shiver skittered down his spine. _And what destiny has the Force decreed for you?_

He jumped, startled, as Sabé leaned over his shoulder, demanding, "What did you do?"  
Obi-Wan turned sideways, giving her a faintly bewildered look, and shrugged. She measured his expression, taking note of the odd gleam in his eyes, his just-noticeably ragged breathing, and then she glanced at Luke. The infant's bright blue stare had not left the Jedi Master's face; it lingered as if drawn by a magnet.  
Sabé required no further explanation – she had observed many Force users in her lifetime, and therefore recognized all the signs. She simply nodded knowingly and withdrew in her chair, throwing a speculative look in Anakin's direction as she sat down.  
The door slid open; Anakin halted in mid-step, his head whipping around – but disappointment colored his expression even before the others could tell who it was. Dormé swept into the room, heading directly for Anakin. When he realized that she was coming towards him, his anxiety level skyrocketed.  
He met her halfway, asking, "Is Padmé all right? Where is she?" His words tumbled over one another in their mad rush to be spoken.  
"She is fine. She is meeting with Yané right now." Dormé wisely omitted their location, and relayed Padmé's request in her quiet manner. "She asked me to take the twins back to your room and look after them while you three attend to other matters." Anakin's teeth sank into his lower lip as he stared at the handmaiden, torn. Though he was still preoccupied with his wife's current situation, he was not certain that he wanted Luke and Leia less than ten feet from him at this time. Yet he also knew that Obi-Wan and Sabé were not accustomed to babysitting, and he felt guilty for having forced this upon them.  
"They will be safe in my care, Anakin," Dormé asserted sincerely. He looked at her for a full minute, and then conceded with a single nod. She inclined her head, and approached Obi-Wan, opening her arms to receive Luke. Padmé's tiny son transferred easily into Dormé's hold, and she adjusted his blankets while Sabé came to her feet and moved to stand beside her, Leia contentedly fingering her long braid.  
"I'll come with you and help get them situated," she told Dormé, and then glanced sidelong at Obi-Wan. "I have not forgotten about our requested discussion, Master Kenobi." The barest hint of a smile teased the corners of her mouth. "We will talk when I return." Motioning with a tilt of her head, she followed Dormé out of the conference room, pausing at the threshold to consider Anakin, who had resumed his restless pacing. Sabé snorted softly to herself, amused, and then the door closed behind her.

Obi-Wan ran a palm over his bearded face, exhaling deeply. He needed to be in better control of his frustration when dealing with Sabé, and Anakin's impatient movements were certainly not the most calming of conditions. Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose and beseeched wearily, "Anakin – _please_. Sit _down."_ He opened his eyes, following his friend's constant stride with growing agitation. "You will drive yourself crazy, pacing back and forth like that."  
"I'll go crazy if I just _sit,_ Master," Anakin muttered while he walked, that same look of deep concentration furrowing his brow. "I need to do something. I need to move around."  
"Well, you're driving _me_ crazy!" Obi-Wan shouted in aggravation. "You seem to have quite a talent for that," he added with a dark scowl.  
Anakin slowed, gazing at his old Master with an unfathomable expression, before coming to a stop and leaning his back against the viewport with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Master," he mumbled. "I just – I don't like it when I have to leave her alone. I'm tired of leaving her."  
Obi-Wan studied the young man's lowered head, the light glinting off his golden hair, and pursed his lips with sympathy. "I understand your concern, Anakin, but you know that the situation is not the same. Padmé seemed very confident when she left – and I, for one, trust in her ability to appeal to a person's better nature. And I believe that she asked_ you_ to trust her, as well."  
Anakin's indigo gaze flashed upwards. "I _do_ trust her. It's everyone else that I don't trust," he said in a low growl.

The Jedi Master smiled lopsidedly, shaking his head with fond disbelief. "I think that Padmé would resent your implication that she cannot look after herself."  
"Oh, she does." Anakin smirked mischievously, and the two brothers chuckled. Then all traces of playfulness washed away from Anakin's features, and he stared at his old friend with a kind of desperate honesty. "She's my whole world, Obi-Wan," he said quietly, "I_ have_ to protect her."  
"But you cannot protect her from _everything,_ my friend," Obi-Wan counseled in a low, peaceful tone. "I may not know much about marriage, but I have learned that any partnership requires equality for it to function well. Padmé is an intelligent, accomplished woman with years of experience in a wide range of venues. And although she is not a Jedi…technically, at the moment, neither are you."  
He waited for the sharp denial, the brash declaration that usually accompanied these types of conversations – but Anakin simply looked at him, acceptance pacifying the turbulent intensity inside his blue eyes. Anakin folded his arms across his chest, remarking, "I know that. I know that she can take care of herself, and that right now, she's probably the stronger of the two of us. But knowing that up _here_ – " he tapped a forefinger against his temple " – doesn't change how I feel."  
Obi-Wan smiled at him with patient affection. "In time, I think that the worry will fade – but it will never disappear. Your worry is a result of your love for her. Just let her have this opportunity to show you that you do not have to worry about her constantly, and I believe that…" He frowned, trailing off. "Anakin? What is it?"

The young man was frozen and tense, as though carved from stone. His eyes had grown wide, and they were focused on something that Obi-Wan was unable to see. The Jedi Master watched apprehensively as Anakin's face paled, and jerked backwards in surprise when he suddenly called out, "Padmé!"  
Obi-Wan was at his friend's side in a heartbeat, staring intently at Anakin's horrified expression. "What is it?" he asked again. Laying a hand on his former Padawan's shoulder, Obi-Wan stretched out with the Force for Padmé, trying to perceive the potential danger that Anakin appeared to be witnessing firsthand. His brow furrowed in confusion. There was nothing – the Force seemed undisturbed around the young woman's essence. He withdrew his awareness, and looked at Anakin's profile, observing the quicksilver shifts of his emotions as they played across his features, hoping to receive some indication of what was happening.

It had struck Anakin with all the devastating force of a torpedo landing a direct hit on a snub fighter. The shockwave of anger – so blisteringly powerful and emanating directly from his wife – awakened unspeakable dread inside his heart. He struggled to recover his mental grounding and closed his eyes, reaching out to her through their bond and calling her name. The closer he got to her, the more he began to realize…this reaction manifesting within Padmé's psyche was a direct contradiction to her natural tendencies. And the fires of rage springing up alongside her were rooted in darkness.  
He shoved aside the crippling terror and focused on Padmé, on the light that filled her soul and now echoed within his own – and the flames died, while cold resolve took its place. Profound relief caused a sigh to escape his lips – but it was short-lived, for the understanding that had blossomed in his mind surfaced at once, and Anakin slowly opened his eyes.  
Obi-Wan was shaking his shoulder, asking anxiously, "What has happened? Is Padmé all right?"  
"She's fine…now." Anakin's voice was numb, devoid of emotion, and he would not meet Obi-Wan's gaze. "Something made her angry, and it surprised me – the strength of it, I mean. But it's all right; she's not in any danger."  
His old Master's eyes were scorching the side of his face with their intensity. "Tell me what you felt, Anakin," he softly commanded, his palm firm and immovable on his friend's shoulder.

Blue orbs reluctantly swung sideways, and Obi-Wan was stunned by the anguish that was displayed within those eyes. "The anger that she felt – the way she was experiencing it… It was not the way she normally responds." Anakin had to force himself to continue, the words coming out haltingly. "The anger…_burned,_ like fire, and I recognized the feeling – because it was how I felt four days ago, when we were fighting." He met Obi-Wan's eyes, and saw the shock of comprehension, the knowledge that both of them were now convinced was true. Anakin implored desperately, "It's still inside me, Master, and it's attacking the woman I love. I wanted to believe that I was free of the dark side, but this proves otherwise. Why is this happening to us? Is it using Padmé to get to me? I won't let it hurt her – or the twins!"  
Obi-Wan gently shook his shoulder, replying in a low, decisive tone, "Calm down, Anakin. We have no certainty of _anything _at this point." Anakin started to interrupt, but Obi-Wan continued, talking over the younger man. "Speculation serves no purpose; it will only feed your fear for Padmé and your children. But whatever happened just now, you were able to reach Padmé and avert a possible disaster. Your bond with her is growing stronger – of that much we _can_ be certain."  
Anakin was studying his former Master's expression, watching his storm-colored eyes as he spoke. "You know something," Anakin remarked with confidence, blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Tell me."  
"It is only a thought, Anakin, not knowledge," Obi-Wan exhaled heavily, dropping his hand from Anakin's broad shoulder.  
"Tell me," he said again, with quiet intensity.

Obi-Wan turned to face the viewport, folding his arms loosely across his stomach, his profile tinted a brilliant red-orange from the light of Polis Massa's central star. "I have suspicions," he confessed, "about the lingering side effects of your encounter with the dark side and how it would influence you if – _when_ – you regain your connection to the Force." Anakin nodded in silence; these suspicions of Obi-Wan's were what had sparked their argument – and ultimately their brawl – in this same room only days before.  
Yet Anakin found it rather intriguing that his old friend had corrected himself when speaking of his reunion with the Force, as if it were an eventual circumstance. He would have to ask him about that later.  
The Jedi Master resumed his explanation, and Anakin focused on the inflection behind his speech. "The dark side leaves its mark on any soul it touches, and I was…" Obi-Wan paused, searching for the right word, "…_afraid_ that it would crouch within you like a predator, just waiting for you to reawaken to the heartbeat of the universe and imprison your mind once again. I could not let that happen. You are too important to the galaxy…to me…to be taken captive by the darkness for a second time."  
"You said –" Anakin broke in softly, his eyes bright, like two points of azure light in the monochromatic glow of the sun, "– you _were_ afraid. As in you're not anymore?"  
"Oh, I don't know if I would go _that_ far," Obi-Wan retorted with a thin smile. "Let's just say that I have come to realize that I was giving the dark side too much credit as far as its hold on your conscience – and not enough credit to the woman who is your touchstone, and has now become your balance point. And your own strength of will, as well," he added, looking at Anakin from the corner of his eye.  
"But you do agree that what affects one of us will affect the other through our bond?"  
"Yes." Obi-Wan turned sideways, his expression grave. "And your account of what transpired just now within Padmé seems to confirm both of our greatest fears. The darkness that resided inside you has lost ground…but it is regrouping, waiting for its opportunity. And it seems to understand that Padmé is your center in the light. _It will do all it can to disrupt that center."_

Anakin's face was pale, washed with a muted, red-gold gleam, and his eyes were wide with terror – and beseeching earnestness. "What must I do?" he whispered throatily, choked by emotion, "How can I protect her? How can I…_purge_ myself of the dark side…when I can't even feel it?"  
"I have no answers for you, my friend," Obi-Wan laid both palms on Anakin's shoulders, in a gesture that was both conciliatory and empowering. "My advice to you, as your old Master and your friend, is to concentrate on your relationship with Padmé, and with Luke and Leia. Use every moment you have with them to strengthen the ties between all of you – for I believe that your feelings for them may be your shield, and your only weapon, against the darkness in your heart." He gripped the hard muscles cording the younger man's arms tightly. "Take comfort in the fact that the wisest of the Jedi is here with us. If there is anyone in the galaxy that can help you overcome _yourself,_ it is Master Yoda."  
The one born of the Force felt cold, numbed from the inside, yet his sharp blue stare blazed with fierce determination. He had gained his freedom from slavery by being the only human with the reflexes to race Pods, when all other voices around him – except the gentle encouragement of his mother and the quiet assurance of a Jedi Master – had told him that it was impossible. He had mastered every skill in the Force during his unorthodox training at the Temple and under Obi-Wan, when many on the Council grumbled that he was too old and therefore dangerous to embark on the path of a Jedi. He had won the heart of the beautiful, unforgettable Senator of Naboo, even when she, and his own sense of duty, had insisted that their love would destroy them.  
Anakin Skywalker was no stranger to situations with insurmountable odds. He had conquered the odds with his very existence.  
And he would not stop until the odds began to work in his favor.

Anakin raised his chin, the slumped line of his shoulders straightening as he met Obi-Wan's gaze unflinchingly. His friend, his teacher, his brother, and his father in every sense of the term, had more or less declared his full confidence in Anakin's ability to meet his destiny. With the combined faith of both his best friend and his wife behind him, Anakin at last felt like he could break free from the shadows once and for all. There was just one more step to take.  
While his eyes told Obi-Wan of his immeasurable gratitude, Anakin asked quietly, "I think I would like to speak to Master Yoda. Do you know where I might find him?"  
"He was looking for a suitable place to meditate," Obi-Wan answered, removing his hands from his young friend's shoulders, and gestured toward the door. "We could go together, if you like."  
Anakin smiled – his first real smile since Padmé left the room. "Thanks, Master, but I think it's better if I handle this one on my own. Besides," he cocked an eyebrow, "aren't you supposed to be waiting to talk with Sabé about her 'additional training'?"  
Obi-Wan frowned, his brow crinkling under the fringe of sandy blond hair that tickled the skin above his right eyebrow. "I had forgotten about that," he admitted, as if that were a shameful occurrence. Glancing inquisitively at Anakin, he wrapped an arm around his middle, propped the opposite elbow atop it, and started pulling absently on his beard. "What do you suppose she meant by that?"  
Anakin heard soft footfalls behind them, and his gaze darted sideways, then back to Obi-Wan with a meaningful gleam. "I think you're about to find out," he muttered under his breath.

Just as the Jedi Master was preparing to question his friend further, Anakin pivoted on heel in a half-circle, smirking amiably as Sabé paused a few steps away. "Am I interrupting?" she inquired politely, her almond-shaped eyes wide and seemingly innocent.  
Anakin did not buy it for one second – but he did not call her out. Though Sabé was almost eerily his female counterpart in both attitude and behavior, he found her genuinely likable. And he knew how much his Padmé cared for her. He would let her have her tête-à-tête with Obi-Wan, as soon as they established some ground rules.  
As Obi-Wan spun quickly, disconcerted that he had not sensed Sabé's approach, Anakin replied smoothly, "Not at all. I was just getting ready to see Master Yoda."  
"He is currently visiting the MedCenter's arboretum, located on the eastern corner of the Patient Recovery Floor, Level 2." Sabé rattled off this statement with absolute certainty, not pausing to take a breath until after it was delivered.  
The two men stared at her with identical, blank expressions. Sabé resisted the urge to sigh; how she disliked it when people made the mistake of underestimating her, or her fellow handmaidens. "Ellé found him there during her routine explorations of the area, and had a brief conversation with him. According to her, Master Yoda had plans to stay and meditate for some time." She looked pointedly at Anakin.  
He blinked, recovering quickly, and nodded at her. "Thank you. I guess I'm heading for the arboretum." Anakin glanced sidelong at Obi-Wan, who offered no response other than a blank stare, and then back at Sabé. "Could you –"  
"I will personally let Padmé know where you are if she returns first," Sabé replied, without letting him even finish asking. She smiled up at him warmly, dark eyes twinkling, and Anakin was amazed at just how much she looked like Padmé in that instant.

He smiled back, threw one last look over at his old Master, and then started for the door. As he brushed past her, Anakin paused just long enough to whisper hurriedly, "Go easy on him, okay? He's had a lot to deal with in the past few days. I don't want him to go into a coma."  
Even though he kept walking, Sabé managed to hiss back to him, "I'm only doing this because he _asked._ He'll only have himself to blame." Their eyes met as Anakin halted briefly at the threshold of the conference room, giving her a stern, expectant look. Though the decoy stared at him mischievously over the curve of one shoulder, he could easily read the undercurrent of solemnity in the depths of her brown eyes. She understood the gravity of what could befall her in the hands of the Emperor, and she appreciated Obi-Wan's concern for her safety.  
Convinced that Obi-Wan and Sabé could be left to conduct their own negotiations, Anakin allowed the door to slide shut behind him, and strode down the corridor to the turbolift.  
Sabé stepped closer to the motionless Jedi, head slightly tilted as she studied his face, and offered him a wide, glittering smile. "Well, where should we begin, Master Jedi?"


	23. Crossroads of the Past

**Chapter Eighteen  
**_**Crossroads of the Past**_

Obi-Wan blinked rapidly several times, Sabé's broad grin vanishing and reappearing with each flash of light and darkness, and he silently berated himself for reacting like a stunned mynock in the aftermath of her pronouncement. He was a Jedi Master, after all – a man with years of experience in roaming known space and mingling with all types of beings. He should not be surprised by this woman's proficiency in her work like he was some callow Padawan fresh out of the Jedi Temple.  
But Obi-Wan refused to allow even the slightest hint of embarrassment to show. That beautiful, seemingly innocent face upturned towards him had not changed in expression, and those dark, almond-shaped eyes were as sharp as the honed edge of a vibroblade – nothing would escape their notice.  
He buried the embarrassment in a far corner of his mind and drew himself upright, molding his attitude around the persona of General Kenobi, and replied, "Perhaps we should begin with how you came to acquire this additional training."  
Her mouth opened, and then closed an instant later. Obi-Wan caught a flicker of indecision in her gaze, just before it was replaced by a shrewd, calculating twinkle. "Why don't you test me first, and then I'll explain," Sabé suggested.  
Obi-Wan had to admire her nerve; not many in the galaxy could stand toe-to-toe with a Jedi Master and contradict a request. He did, however, have the sinking feeling that this discussion would involve many such contradictions – and it was in that moment that he felt oddly grateful. After dealing with Anakin's headstrong tendencies for over a decade, he had stockpiled a vast supply of patience.

"Very well," Obi-Wan agreed calmly. "Shall we?" He made a wide, sweeping gesture with his arm. Sabé understood immediately what he meant and fell gracefully into a cross-legged pose on the conference room floor. It took Obi-Wan a little longer than usual – the cast on his injured leg was cumbersome, and the pain was certainly a challenge – but soon he was seated in a similar way, directly across from her, their knees nearly touching.  
The decoy looked perfectly at ease; her spine was straight, shoulders pulled back, and she rested her forearms comfortably on her legs. Watching the Jedi Master with a compliant expression, she waited for him to direct the course of this meeting.  
Obi-Wan studied her eyes – it was the easiest way to gain some sense of what she was thinking without relying on the Force – but the dark brown orbs had become inscrutable, clouded. "How would you like me to proceed?"  
Sabé spoke adamantly, her stare never wavering. "Test me as you think the Emperor would."  
The Jedi Master blinked. "Excuse me?"  
"Try to get inside my head. Look for something that you do not know about me – something from my childhood, perhaps." After accurately reading the look of incredulity and apprehension on Obi-Wan's bearded face, Sabé smiled. "Don't worry about me; I want to be prepared, and I want you and Padmé and Anakin to feel confident in me. Now, go on." Her hands curled into fists, and her jaw tightened, as if she were steeling herself.  
Obi-Wan was far beyond perplexed at this point; he honestly had no idea how he could explain this to her – especially when her self-assurance resonated within the Force like a second voice. "Sabé…" he began slowly, cautiously, "The act of entering a person's mind is a dangerous task. Most Jedi – and Sith, for that matter – use the Force to skim the surface thoughts of others, purely as a precaution against threats or when searching for information on a specific event. To delve deep into another's mind and hunt for a memory…it is very difficult."

"But you said it can be done," Sabé said, her own confusion rising to the fore. "That it's what Palpatine would use against me if I am captured and questioned. Can you not simulate it?"  
"In theory, yes – but not to the same extent as the Emperor." Obi-Wan leaned forward slightly, focusing on her eyes, wanting her to fully comprehend what he was about to disclose. "I can use the Force to examine your mental defenses, but I will not go as deep as he will. I do not wish to harm you. You see… when a foreign consciousness invades a mind, it can leave holes – tears in the subconscious, which may never fully heal. My entrance will be precise, controlled. The Emperor will be careless, and brutal. He will not have the smallest amount of pity, and will scour every corner of your mind to discover your secrets."  
He sighed heavily, his blue-grey eyes glancing aside. "I must be very honest with you, Sabé: it is my fear that, should Palpatine have you in his clutches, knowing that you carry the location of Anakin Skywalker's offspring in your memory… You will not survive his interrogation." His eyes swung back to hers, unsure of what to expect.  
Her face was smooth and placid, although the determination behind her eyes had hardened considerably. Sabé remarked lightly, "You're still underestimating me, Master Kenobi." She smiled a coy, lopsided grin, but the hard core of durasteel in her gaze remained. "Test me," she offered again, "Go as deep as you able without causing any damage, and then we will _both_ know what I can survive."  
They stared at one another for several minutes, each trying to read into the other's thoughts and intentions – until Obi-Wan released a long, weary exhale and said, "As you wish. But I will need something more specific to look for than just a random memory – and it cannot be from your childhood. That will cause me to explore your subconscious too deeply. A more recent memory would suffice. If I enter your mind without a purpose, it will not accomplish anything except granting us both a terrible headache."  
"Hmm…" Sabé pondered briefly, and then replied, "I have an older brother that I visited a few months ago. Find out his name and where he is staying."

Obi-Wan nodded. It was a good choice; the knowledge was relatively fresh, and it would allow him to search out a name and a visual location. "Are you ready?" In affirmation, Sabé's chin rose, and the muscles of her slender neck visibly tensed. Obi-Wan reached out with both hands, explaining in a gentle voice as the decoy's eyes watched him warily, "I doubt that the Emperor will proceed in the same manner, but it helps for me to maintain a physical anchor." He placed his fingertips on either side of her head, touching her temples with light pressure. Sabé's growing unease, and the fierce resolve she used to combat it were screaming at him through the Force, and he looked at her with a slight smile. "Try to relax."  
The look she gave him was one of sardonic disbelief, and Obi-Wan fought the urge to laugh. As much as this woman pushed the limits of his Jedi-trained calm, he would like to count her as a friend. Returning his focus to the present moment, Obi-Wan let his eyelids drift closed, and he opened himself fully to the Force. As his awareness expanded outwards, he could sense the cracks in his perceptions, the damage still as of yet that had not been undone. He would have to go about this _very_ carefully, or risk harm to either himself or Sabé – and he would tolerate neither outcome.  
The Jedi Master formed a probe of Force energy, and sent it towards Sabé. She jerked under his touch as the probe initiated the contact between their minds, piercing her thoughts as much as he dared, and he followed its wake into her subconscious.

For a moment there was nothing but chaos. Colors, images, and sounds swirled around him like a hurricane, and the sensory overload was almost too much to bear. Obi-Wan concentrated on the low rhythm of his heartbeat, thundering in his ears – and eventually the chaos began to thin, though random images and noises surrounded him every few seconds.  
He could feel the early twinges of pain, like needles driving into his skull, and knew he did not have long to complete his task. Sabé's thoughts echoed through him – her voice rang in the void like the chimes of a great bell, interrupting his concentration.  
_I'm not sure I can do this…  
_…_certain that this will work…  
__Padmé is counting on me…  
_…_will I know if he succeeds?  
_Obi-Wan projected his mental suggestion in a bubble of energy, and it overruled the unending echoes. _"Your brother's name." _The whisper filled the now-silent ether.  
For a split second, a face appeared – a man who looked to be a few years younger than Obi-Wan, with dark hair tied back loosely at the nape of his neck. He had Sabé's almond-shaped eyes.  
But suddenly, the image was swept away by a tide of emotion, and Obi-Wan found himself in a sparring room, watching arms and legs that were not his conduct the basic moves of Echani shadow-boxing, a technique known to military special forces and Jedi alike.  
He tried to pull himself out of the imagery, but Sabé's thoughts began ringing out once again, repeating each motion verbally as it was performed.  
_Left jab.  
__Right cross.  
__Right kick, left hook, double punch.  
__Crouch, sweep kick, left elbow, then punch._

He focused inward, drawing upon his inner strength, and summoned a considerable blast of Force-enhanced volume in order to call out, _"What is your brother's name?"  
_The question seemed to shake the walls of the sparring room, and Obi-Wan stifled a groan as a starburst of intense pain erupted right between his eyes.  
The man's face appeared again, wearing a wide, affectionate smile…and the sky above him was a brilliant turquoise, decorated by puffs of silver-white clouds and occasional flashes of light on the hulls of spaceships as they entered and departed from the planet's atmosphere. The wind stirred, a rustling noise awakening to his left, and Obi-Wan noticed a nearby tree, its leaves a deep purple, run through with reddish veins, and its bark was the topaz color of a sky at sunset.  
"_Where is this? What is his name?"_ he demanded, the pain in his forehead fanning outwards to explode behind his eyes. He faintly heard a harsh gasp, the image distorting for an instant, and regret knifed through him that he had caused her pain.  
Sabé's voice spoke from the memory, _"I've missed you, Sh –"_

The memory vanished in a violent flare of white light, and the rumbling growl of thunder. Obi-Wan was standing in the middle of a storm, the rain beating down upon him mercilessly while lightning snaked its electric tendrils across the black sky. An angry face loomed before him; a man, bald, with a thick neck corded by muscle and a diagonal scar that ran from his left eyebrow, across the bridge of his nose, and ended somewhere beneath his right earlobe. He screamed in a deep, booming voice that carried over the howling wind, pounding rain, and deafening thunder – _"FOCUS, di'kutla ad'i! How can you hope to learn our ways when you cannot discipline yourself?"  
_Obi-Wan felt Sabé's exhaustion, the way her limbs trembled from exertion and lack of sustenance – and he felt the burning surge of anger as it fueled her waning determination, straightening the bend in her spine._ "I _am_ focusing, Commander."  
_The force of the backhand sent her reeling backwards, and Obi-Wan grimaced as she pressed a palm to her stinging cheek, tasting blood in the corner of her mouth. The man's eyes, so dark that they appeared to be black, glared at her – but something had changed inside them. It could almost be defined as…respect.  
"_Then prove it," _he commanded. He snapped his fingers at someone to the side, his eyes never leaving Sabé, and shouted, _"Again!"  
_Darkness washed away the memory, but the pain intensified a hundredfold. Obi-Wan could barely maintain a hold on his consciousness, and he could sense the agony ripping through Sabé as the prolonged contact of their minds began to take its toll. He had to leave, now,or the consequences would be disastrous.

The Jedi Master ignored the pain as best he could, and swam up through the black water until a pinpoint of light appeared, guiding him back. As his awareness broke the surface, he sucked in a huge gulp of air, and his eyes snapped open, his fingertips leaving Sabé's temples as if they had been scalded. He blinked, struggling to clear his vision around the throb in his skull, and looked at Sabé. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, a grimace twisting her mouth, and Obi-Wan once again experienced a sharp stab of remorse. He tentatively touched her hand, clenched in a white-knuckled fist, and murmured, "Sabé?"  
With a gasp, her eyes opened wide, unfocused and dark with terror. Her breathing was erratic, her heartbeat galloped madly, and her entire body shook like a dry leaf clinging to its branch in a windstorm.  
She tried to spring to her feet and flee, air rushing in and out from between her lips in quick, little pants – but Obi-Wan's large hand grasped her wrist, holding her in place. "Sabé, you must remain calm," he ordered softly. Her head jerked wildly from side to side, eyes darting all around the room, and she twisted in his grip, nearly breaking his hold. He seized her other wrist, pulling hard enough to catch her attention without injuring her. "Look at me!"  
The decoy's wide brown eyes met his, clarity slowly leaking into her frightened stare while tears left trails of moisture down her pale cheeks. Obi-Wan's heart cringed inside his ribcage as he witnessed her emotional anguish. He realized that he was already past the limit of his strength in the Force, but he could not leave her in this condition – not when he had the means to help.  
He released one of her hands, and lifted a palm towards her face. Sabé recoiled, and Obi-Wan's hand froze in mid-motion. Gazing deeply into her dark eyes, he asked in a low murmur, "Do you trust me?"

Sabé's whole world had turned inside out and upside down. She was lost, confused, and utterly alone. The raw fear consuming her was like that of a small child, abandoned in the night – no one was coming to rescue her from the nightmares that stalked within the shadows surrounding her.  
But there was a voice, calling out to her. It was soft, and calm, and she could hear concern in its tone.  
Sabé blinked, willing her eyes to open, and stared into a pair of blue-grey eyes. They were the precise shade of the oceans on Naboo, and the kindness reflected inside tugged on her spirit. The voice asked a question, and it was echoed in those ocean-colored orbs: "Do you trust me?"  
Obi-Wan sighed in relief when Sabé nodded. The vulnerable expression on her face made her look like a little girl, and that strange, unnamable emotion resurfaced within him. He placed his palm over her eyes and reached into the Force, flooding her frayed psyche with feelings of calm and safety. He clamped his teeth together to keep from moaning as the pain behind his eyes increased, sending fire into his brain, but he did not stop channeling the Force until he heard Sabé's breathing even out, and the wrist locked inside his grasp grew slack. Obi-Wan slowly removed his hand from her eyes, and it came to rest against her cheek, seemingly of its own accord. Her eyes fluttered open, and locked onto his gaze immediately. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.  
"Yes. Thank you," Sabé answered, watching a pleased smile curve the Jedi Master's lips.  
The expression made him look years younger, his eyes lighting up, and she was reminded of the quick-witted Padawan who joked with his Master and cut down dozens of Trade Federation droids with a single stroke of his lightsaber. He really was quite handsome, she thought to herself, when he wasn't acting so stern and aloof like all the other Jedi Masters she had met. And he was a true friend – Padmé had been very adamant on that fact when she and Sabé had conversed briefly before the meeting.  
She would like to be his friend, as well.

Sabé returned Obi-Wan's smile, and a peculiar warmth illuminated the irises of her brown eyes, creating shimmers of coppery light that sparkled as she studied him. He sensed the flow of her emotions, yet was unable to discover the underlying motivation of its redirection. It was a heartbeat later that he realized he was still framing her cheek with his palm, and he abruptly withdrew, clearing his throat loudly.  
"Yes, well – I am relieved that you have recovered. Now do you understand what awaits you in the Emperor's custody?"  
She seemed confused for a moment, still feeling the impression of his hand against her cheek, wondering what had unnerved him…and when it hit her, she immediately sat upright, resuming the businesslike posture from before. "I think I have a pretty good idea," she commented wryly, "Not to mention the incredible headache you warned me about." She gingerly touched her temple, massaging it with her fingertips and wincing at the stab of pain.  
"I managed to take some of the more intense pain away, but I'm afraid the rest will have to be cured by more conventional means." Obi-Wan said this casually, a slight grin lifting the corner of his mouth, but the concern in his gaze was unmistakable. "Would you prefer to contact a med droid, or shall we continue?"  
"I'll survive," she remarked, squinting angrily up at the ceiling's glow panels. "What about you?" she asked, looking over at him. "Aren't you in pain?"  
"I'll survive," he turned her words back on her, his grin tipping into a self-depreciating expression. "It's been a long time since I had to enter someone's mind and collect information. I was not expecting it to be quite as strenuous, though."  
Sabé scooted closer, her face alight with curiosity. "Did you find what you were looking for?"  
Obi-Wan gazed at her in silence for a moment, and then shook his head. "I didn't get any names – only images. I saw your brother's face; he was on a planet with a turquoise sky – a spaceport, from the looks of it – and there was a tree with purple leaves, the likes of which I have not seen. And I did hear part of a name: 'S-h'."

"That's it?"  
He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. She did not seem disappointed. On the contrary, she looked absolutely delighted. A gleeful smirk tilted her full lips, and she asked eagerly, "Did you get anything else?"  
"I did see several other things," Obi-Wan admitted with a shrug. "You were practicing Echani forms, and then – " He paused, and a speculative gleam entered his blue-grey eyes. "I saw you in a storm – training, I suppose, with a scarred, bald man whom you called 'Commander'." Sabé leaned back slightly, her stare becoming guarded, and Obi-Wan continued, "He was yelling at you to focus, and he called you something in a language I've not heard before. It was something like, _dee-koot_ – _dee-ko…"  
_"_Di'kutla ad'i," _Sabé supplied in a quiet, hesitant voice, her gaze faraway.  
"Yes," Obi-Wan acquiesced, carefully studying her changing expressions. "What language is that?"  
Sabé fixed her attention on the Jedi Master, scrutinizing him, as if she were debating whether or not to share all she knew. "It means 'idiot girl'. The Commander called me that a lot. He thought I didn't have the strength to endure their training because it wasn't 'bred into me,' like their children." She was still measuring him with her eyes, fighting an internal battle. "Actually, it was practically a miracle that they agreed to train me at all. They are a proud, fierce people; they like their traditions, their sense of honor, and their individuality. I learned much about their culture, along with their fighting techniques – the two concepts are so tightly interwoven that it was impossible to gain proficiency in one without the other.  
They have their flaws, and still bear the weight of their ancestors' decisions, but they have an indomitable spirit. It's what drew me to them." Sabé suddenly glared at him sharply. "I do not want you to judge them before you hear what I have learned. I want your word, Master Kenobi."  
"You have it," Obi-Wan agreed at once, feeling equally baffled and curious.  
Sabé did not speak for a number of seconds. Then she opened her mouth, and said one sentence that stole the oxygen from Obi-Wan's lungs. "_Di'kutla ad'i _means 'idiot girl'…in Mandalorian."

_Mandalorian.  
_The word itself awakened a torrent of emotion and memories within the Jedi Master. The Mandalorians were a warrior race of humans, dedicated to the glory of battle and the honor earned from victory.  
Their history in this galaxy was a violent and bloody one. During the Sith War, over a thousand years ago, they were recruited by Exar Kun – a powerful Sith Lord, to fight against the Republic and the Jedi Order.  
The remnant fled Republic space after Kun and Qel-Droma's defeat…only to return two decades later to set the Outer Rim ablaze with the fires of war. The Mandalorians attacked and conquered small worlds, carefully choosing those that were outside of Republic jurisdiction. Though these worlds pleaded for aid, the Senate voted not to intervene. The Republic's citizens were still recuperating from the effects of the war against Exar Kun; they had neither the resources nor the manpower to openly clash with the Mandalorians.  
But remaining stagnant was a grave mistake.  
Using the conquered worlds as a base of operations, the Mandalorian army fell upon three sectors in the Republic, crippling the planets and igniting widespread panic. There was no other choice but to retaliate, and the Mandalorian Wars began. Yet the Republic Fleet was vastly depleted, and ill-equipped for war – especially against a foe whose entire existence orbited around the thrill of conquest. The Republic had been overwhelmed, and begged the Jedi to intervene on behalf of the millions losing their lives to the Basilisk war droids raining down upon them.  
But the Jedi Council refused. The Masters sensed a greater threat than that of the Mandalorians, and could not risk sending any among the Order into battle. This did not sit well with many Jedi, but two young Knights decided to do something about it.

Revan and Malak defied the will of the Council, called hundreds of Knights, Padawans, and apprentices to their cause, and met the Mandalorians head-on. Many were killed – on both sides of the conflict, plus the countless innocents caught in the crossfire. With the Jedi supporting them, the Republic won several key victories, halting the merciless tide of the Mandalorians' crusade. Revan was a tactical genius; the Mandalorians were completely unprepared, and impressed by this young, female Jedi commander.  
Obi-Wan allowed himself a humorless chuckle. If Anakin had been born a millennia ago, he would have reacted the same way as Revan. In fact, Obi-Wan was convinced that his old Padawan would have rivaled the infamous Jedi-turned Sith Lord-turned Jedi in both power and reputation. With the full might of the Republic under her wing, Revan began to turn the tide of the war.  
Of course, this only made the Mandalorians fight harder, having finally gained an opponent which they could test themselves against to the furthest limits of their abilities.  
The Mandalorians finally met their end at Malachor V, and the resulting explosion destroyed nearly every life – Jedi, Republic, and Mandalorian alike – within a million kilometers, and reduced Malachor to a barely contained chunk of rock and noxious gas. They disappeared from history after that; when the Jedi Civil War erupted in the aftermath of the Mandalorian Wars, it had been rumored that a Mandalorian soldier from clan Ordo had traveled with Revan when she renounced the dark side and fought against her former apprentice, Malak. But aside from that, the children of Mandalore became nothing more than a distant memory. Mandalorian soldiers turned into mercenaries, security forces, blasters-for-hire, and were absorbed into the currents of the galaxy. Or so historians, and the Jedi Order, thought…until Obi-Wan arrived on Kamino four years ago.

When he met Jango Fett, the bounty hunter from which the entire Grand Army of the Republic was cloned, Obi-Wan had been expecting someone – well, someone who was_ not_ like Jango Fett. At first glance, the man seemed like any other bounty hunter: blunt, clever, and ruthlessly efficient. But their only conversation was filled with veiled threats and strange implications, leaving Obi-Wan with the impression that there was more to this than 'a simple man trying to make my way in the universe', as Jango had said. Especially in the cold, black stare he had given Obi-Wan as he spoke his parting words in a flat, emotionless voice.  
"_Always a pleasure to meet a Jedi."  
_There had been history in that phrase – an undying vendetta that lived within the blood in his veins, and that he wore as proudly as the Mandalorian armor covering his body as he fought Obi-Wan on the rain-soaked landing platform not ten minutes after that conversation drew to an abrupt close.  
Jango had been a skilled opponent, and one that anticipated Obi-Wan's responses at nearly every turn – almost as if he knew _exactly_ what to look for when fighting a Jedi. For example, Jango had lashed Obi-Wan's hands together with a fibercord just as he was calling upon the Force to retrieve his lightsaber from the ground. But despite his apparent knowledge of Jedi fighting styles, Jango Fett had met his end in the Geonosis execution arena, decapitated by one sure stroke of Mace Windu's violet blade.  
Yet he lived on – in the laboratory-constructed genes of every clone trooper, and in his son, Boba.

Obi-Wan could not suppress the icy chill that shivered across his skin. An army comprised of the cloned descendants of an ancient warrior society that carried a grudge for all Jedi, under the absolute authority of a sadistic Sith Lord. The revenge of the dark side had also been the long arm of vengeance for the Mandalorians, reaching out from ages past to crush the Jedi once and for all.  
Now Obi-Wan knew that other Mandalorians had survived, passing on their grudges and their combat techniques to future generations – priming themselves for another great battle that would consume the galaxy. And Sabé had sought out these people, wanting to learn about them, from them…  
There was only one question he could ask, only one word that took precedence over every conscious thought in Obi-Wan's head.  
"Why?"  
Sabé looked at him, her forehead wrinkling in confusion even as her eyes narrowed infinitesimally.  
"Why would you seek _them_ out?" Obi-Wan asked, half-desperate, half-infuriated.  
He was about to continue, but Sabé held up a single finger, her chin jutting out in defiance. "You gave me your word, Master Kenobi; do not judge them until you hear me out."  
_"Mandalorians,_ Sabé!" The anger was definitely winning out against his desperation to understand. "They are an aggressive, dangerous race – history is filled with gruesome tales of their exploits. And they have opposed the Jedi Order for millennia, even allying themselves with the Sith for a time."  
"The Mandalorians owe no allegiance to the Sith now." Sabé's eyes were reduced to slits, filled with fire, and her voice was quiet, but deadly. "I realize that you harbor an inborn prejudice against them, and I can assure you that every Mandalorian child is taught to beware of Force users – Sith and Jedi, alike. What I am asking of you now is that you put everything you think you know about them aside, including your lofty opinions, and listen."

Obi-Wan could sense her willfulness, her stubborn need to _make_ him hear her out, and he realized that – yet again – he had lost control of his emotions in her presence. His anger with Sabé for developing bonds with Mandalorians, when they had proven themselves to be the enemy of peace, bubbled inside his chest like a volcanic eruption. Now he understood the memory of the storm that he had witnessed within her mind, and fear jolted his thoughts as he wondered what else she had suffered at their hands.  
He took a deep breath, inhaling through his nose, and the blood pounding in his veins started to slow. When he felt fairly confident that his voice would not betray the powerful emotions he had not yet reined in, Obi-Wan replied, "I am listening."  
She glanced at him skeptically, inwardly wondering if all Jedi lost their objectivity so quickly – it was highly unlikely – and evaluated his body language. Tension was obviously in full display, tightening the square line of his jaw and the area around his eyes, but his breathing was deep and even, and his stare no longer bored into her like a mining laser – yet it was no less intense.

Sabé began her tale without preamble. "When my days as Queen Amidala's Royal Decoy were ended, I took on several security team positions for high-placed members of Nubian society, and eventually was drawn into the more widespread circle of galactic organizations. I had a stint as an internal security associate with the Commerce Guild – years before the war, of course – and a few other nationally recognized companies and public figures hired me on, as well. I tired quickly of the politics that entangled nearly every post I found myself in, and decided to take a break about seven years ago. I quit my last job, spent some time with my family on Naboo, and then paid a visit to my brother."  
"Your brother…" Obi-Wan commented, stroking his beard. The Jedi Master had to admit that his curiosity was piqued in regard to her sibling after trying to seek him out within her mind. "You must be very close to him."  
Sabé grinned widely. "I am. By the way, my brother's name is Shaelon – I call him Shae." Her eyes softened, embers glowing in their depths, and the love she felt for her brother washed over Obi-Wan in the Force like warm water. "He's five years older than me. My parents think that Shae's a bit of a rebel, and therefore not a very good influence on their only daughter, but I know they love him just the same. He left Naboo with some friends from Academy when I was twelve; I had just completed my decoy training, and didn't find out he was gone until five days later. I was devastated, and refused to speak to him through the holo reader for weeks. After the battle with the Trade Federation, I sent him a message – and we've been corresponding and planning visits ever since. But I digress."

She shifted a little, searching for a more comfortable position on the carpeted floor, and continued. "I met up with Shae at a cantina on Subterrel; he was always very secretive with me then. All I knew about his life was that he resided on a planet somewhere in Wild Space, was married to a Kiffar woman named Riah, and had two children – a boy and a girl. I had no idea what he did for a living, and every time that I asked, he would either ignore it or divert my attention. I learned to accept it; my career as a decoy was built upon secrecy, and I came to understand that whatever he did must be dangerous if he refused to tell me. Shae was always trying to protect me. He still is. But after I got done explaining to him why I was finished with security jobs and society altogether, his whole face changed. He saw me as an adult – a capable adult – instead of just his baby sister. And he realized that he could use my help."  
"'Help' is very broad term," Obi-Wan remarked, an eyebrow quirking dubiously. "What, exactly, could he have used your help with?"  
Sabé crossed her arms over her chest, staring hard at the Jedi Master. "Shae needed my help with some…entrepreneurial ventures. The pay was good, and the risks relatively low – well, lower than when I was Padmé's decoy. If I would agree to help, he would take me to his home and I could meet Riah, and my niece and nephew. And I had to _swear_ not to tell anyone – especially my parents – what we were doing."  
"He's a smuggler."  
In response to her stunned expression, Obi-Wan shrugged one shoulder and declared offhandedly, "I _am_ a Jedi, after all."

Sabé rolled her eyes, muttering something sarcastic under her breath that sounded like, "I couldn't tell…" Then she fixed him with a level stare as accurate as a blaster rifle's crosshairs. "Are you going to pass judgment on him, too?"  
"I find it very unlikely that a man you hold in as high esteem as your brother would be involved in the more…unsavory aspects of the smuggling industry," Obi-Wan replied, his voice serene and modulated. "It seems plausible that he was either transporting food or medical supplies to impoverished worlds."  
"You're right," Sabé agreed reluctantly, her brow lowering fiercely, creating deep shadows from which her brown irises sparked and sizzled with energy. "Shae knew that a profession in smuggling was illegal, but he refused to tarnish his ethics by accepting work from slavers or spice traders, even though the amount of credits they offered him was mind-boggling. How did you do that?" she demanded suddenly.  
Obi-Wan blinked. "I beg your pardon?" he asked politely.  
"How did you know that Shae was a smuggler – and one that stuck to food and medical shipments?" The spark in her eyes flared, like kerosene poured on a fire. "Did you use the Force on my mind again?"  
Irritation sprang to life within the Jedi Master's placid attitude. He answered curtly, the syllables beating out a staccato rhythm, "I am a Jedi Master, Sabé, and an honorable man. I would _never_ use the Force against you without your consent. It is not the way of the Jedi, and it is not _my_ way."  
Sabé leaned backwards, away from him, surprise rounding her mouth into a perfect "o" even as some of the fire died in her gaze. Obi-Wan wanted to smack himself in the forehead. What was the _matter _with him?  
He was acting as brash and insolent as Anakin. Apparently his 'learning by example' mentality with his old Padawan was a two-way street. Of all the things he could have picked up from Anakin, why did it have to be his lack of diplomacy? And why did it have to manifest itself at such an inopportune moment?

"_Don't center on your anxieties, Obi-Wan. Keep your concentration here and now – where it belongs."  
_The wise advice of his Master soothed Obi-Wan's rampaging thoughts of self-disappointment, and he took a few seconds to center himself in the Force before speaking.  
"I did not use the Force," he continued, his usual cultured tone forming the words, and Sabé's taut frame visibly relaxed. "It was merely a simple deduction. The way you speak of Shae tells me that you revere him. You also indicated that he was a bit of a rebel, and your mention of 'entrepreneurial ventures' was further evidence of your brother's shady occupation. Plus the fact that Subterrel is a well-known haunt for smugglers on their way to and from Unknown Space. Unless you are a smuggler, or friends with one, it really is not the best place for a family reunion." Obi-Wan gave her a wry smile, and was relieved when she grinned back. "So – your brother wanted your help." He steered the flow of conversation smoothly in Sabé's hands once more, "I assume that you agreed?"  
"Of course. I was itching for an adventure, and desperate to spend more time with Shae. We left the cantina, and he took me aboard his ship, the _Vanguard_. After introducing me to his co-pilot, Riah's brother Rida, we set a course for the Hydian Way. En-route, Shae explained to me that we were on an intercept course for a freighter transporting vital cargo from Eriadu to Ryloth. We had to catch it before it reached the Corellian Run, or else we would have some…conflicts with other smuggling vessels. I could tell from the way he spoke that this was a serious operation, one that was more dangerous than his usual runs – but I assured him that I knew how to use a blaster, or do anything else that he needed from me." Sabé sighed, shaking her head with a mocking half-smile. "I was twenty-one, and incredibly arrogant. Rida never spoke to me; he nodded in greeting, and answered all my questions by moving his head. He was an imposing presence, and the first Kiffar male I had ever met. With his facial tattoos, olive-toned skin, and thick black dreadlocks, any other girl in my place would have given Rida a wide berth. But I did not. I wanted to know why he stayed silent every time I was around. I doubt he knew the intense training I had undergone as a Royal Decoy, so I was able to read him easily enough. His black eyes smoldered with suppressed rage whenever he looked at me – but it was not because I repulsed him. He was repulsed by the very idea that I was aboard their ship, included in this mission.

I overheard Shae confront him about it a few hours before intercept, and his rough, gravelly whisper carried all the way down the corridor: 'The girl has no idea what you have gotten her into. That you would throw your _only sister_ in her ignorance into this mynock nest; it _sickens_ me.'  
That was the first time I wondered what I had signed up for – the first time that I felt real fear for what lie ahead. Shae defended me, of course, saying that I was combat-trained and no stranger to risky situations, and that he would never have taken me along if he felt that it wasn't safe." Sabé fell quiet, her expression transforming into one of desolate sadness, and her melancholy echoes within the Force made Obi-Wan's heart turn over in sympathy.  
"What happened?" he inquired softly.  
Gazing at some unseen event, Sabé said bleakly, "Our intercept worked like a charm; the freighter was caught completely off-guard, and because Shae and Rida had hit these type of vessels before, they knew how to disable their shields and engines with a few precise laser blasts. We attached the _Vanguard _to the freighter's hull with gravitational magnets, and cut an entry through the durasteel plating. Shae looked at me, palming his blaster, and said that we had exactly twenty-seven minutes to transfer the cargo to the _Vanguard _and blaze out of there before the freighter's reinforcements arrived. He ordered me to stand guard at the hatch and oversee the cargo transfer, moving it into the main hold. I was confused. Why would a cargo freighter have armed reinforcements?  
Shae ran off before I could ask, disappearing through the starboard hatch and into the freighter. Rida looked at me, glaring with his black eyes, and spoke directly to me for the first time. 'You must prepare yourself, girl, for what you are about to witness.' He grabbed my arm, jerking me closer, and I braced myself for a fight. He literally towered over me, but in his fierce, wild features, I saw a trace of concern. He growled, 'Do not leave the ship. Do not speak to anyone. Carry your blaster in hand at all times. Do not hesitate to defend yourself or this ship. Show your bravery, sister of my sister's mate.' And then he let me go.

I remember standing there in shock, my arm aching from his tight grip – but then I drew my blaster and approached the hatch, leaning slowly around the corner.  
The freighter's corridors were dark, illuminated only by flashing yellow sirens, and the alarm klaxons wailed shrilly in my ears. Then I heard footsteps – lots of them. I held my blaster at the ready, expecting guards, or anything other than what greeted me when I looked again to mark a target.  
Shae was sprinting down the corridor, followed by about thirty or so people, and he was holding a small Togruta child in his arms. Passing the child to me, he breathlessly told the others to follow my instructions, and assured them that we were going to get out of here…and then he ran back down the hall, towards the sound of distant blasterfire.  
I led the group towards the main hold, my ears ringing – but not from the klaxons. I kept reciting the Handmaiden's Creed over and over in my head, using it as a focus to get me through the rest of this mission, because I was in real danger of becoming completely useless to my brother and to these people.  
I felt like I was drowning in deep water – there was no sound, and everything around me appeared to be moving in slow motion. These people…_they_ were the cargo we were supposed to intercept. The freighter was a slavery vessel. There were humans, Bith, Rodians, several Twi'leks, and the Togruta girl clinging desperately to me. I realized that they had been headed for the Ryll mines on Ryloth – a cheap labor force that would die out in a matter of weeks, only to be replaced by another unfortunate group in an endless cycle of greed and death.  
My brain seemed to wake up at that moment, and I felt a surge pass through me, lighting my nerves on fire. This was what Padmé fought so hard against as a Queen and a Senator; this was what Master Qui-Gon had saved Anakin Skywalker from on Tatooine. This was the epitome of injustice in the galaxy, and I had been given the opportunity to do something about it.

The blasterfire echoed from the hatch, getting louder, and I tried to pass the little Togruta to another refugee, but she wound her arms tightly around my neck and wouldn't let go. Shae was shouting my name, saying that they needed cover fire. So I carried her with me, slapping a fresh charge in my blaster as I ran to the hatch.  
Shae and Rida were being chased by five or six Weequay, each one toting a repeating disruptor rifle. I whispered to the little girl, 'Don't watch,' and took aim. I hit the closest one in the torso, and shot another right above the sternum. By then, the others realized that I was a threat and sent a volley in my direction. The girl screamed, her face buried in my neck, as sparks exploded around us and I dove sideways, jamming my shoulder into the _Vanguard's_ hull.  
Suddenly a trio of shots rang out from beside me. I spun sideways, bringing my blaster to bear…  
It was one of the refugees, holding a long-range weapon with the casual grace of someone with experience.  
I watched as the refugee took one Weequay down and injured another, giving my brother and Rida the few seconds they needed to climb through the hatch and into our ship. Shae bypassed us without a second glance – he knew we had to make the jump to lightspeed immediately – while Rida studied the refugee critically before turning to me. 'Nice shooting,' was all he said; then he disappeared into the cockpit.

The refugee who had helped us lowered the rifle, and I could see then that it was a woman, no more than two or three years older than me. She was more muscular than a typical female human – but now that I was able to examine her appearance, I noticed that she had long, rust-colored hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, and her face was beautiful – in a hard, fierce way, like the laser-cut edges of a diamond.  
Smiling at me, she remarked, 'A high compliment from a Kiffar, _ad'ika._ That he spoke at all means that you have earned a small measure of respect.'"  
Obi-Wan broke in to the flow of Sabé's narrative, commenting guardedly, "She was a Mandalorian."  
Sabé nodded, aware that he had recognized the language. "She told me that her name was Kireta of the clan Mereel, a _Mando'ad. _She had been on her way home when slavers boarded her transport and she was taken prisoner with the other passengers.  
'You are not like these other _aruetiise_,' she told me, setting the butt of the blaster rifle on the floor and holding it one-handed like a walking stick. 'Even the males cower like _hut'uun_ while their comrades are threatened.' Though I did not understand her meaning, the look of disgust on Kireta's face when she said those words was unmistakable. Then her sharp features changed, growing speculative as she studied me. 'You showed no fear while fighting those Weequay, and you protected the child without becoming distracted.' Her dark blue eyes pierced through mine like a cortosis blade, and they were cautious – like she was weighing some critical decision in her mind.

She asked for my name, and when I told her, there was instant recognition on her face. 'A Nubian. And judging from the way you handle weaponry, you must have been a member of the Queen's personal guard. Tell me – did you fight against the Trade Federation when they invaded your homeworld?'  
When she asked that particular question, I got the distinct impression that I was being tested – for what, I did not know. Kireta's attention never deviated from my face, and the speculation in her eyes brightened with each passing second. 'Of course,' I answered, offended that she could think I would just stand by and let those slimy Neimoidians conquer Naboo.  
She seemed amused by my affronted behavior. 'You fought…even when your kinsmen are renown throughout the Republic for their pacifist ways. Would you still have fought, I wonder, if you had not been serving your Queen – when it was just you, _ad'ika, _defending your family from the swarms of battle droids?'  
'What does that _mean?'_ I finally asked, fed up with her probing questions and irritated that I could not understand handfuls of her words.  
Kireta smiled at me, her amusement genuine, and slightly mocking. _'Ad'ika?_ It means 'child' – or 'kid', as per your _aruetiise_ jargon. I call you _ad'ika_ because that it what you are – a child.' Abruptly, the smile vanished. 'And you did not answer my question.'  
'You want to know if I still would have fought?' I was shaken by her apparent knowledge of my past, adrenaline still pumping through my bloodstream from the firefight…and, as I said before, I was incredibly arrogant. She was right to call me a child. I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster, 'You seem to know so much about me; why don't you take a wild guess?'"

"You're lucky she didn't ram that blaster into your jaw and pull the trigger," Obi-Wan muttered darkly. "Mandalorians have zero tolerance for rudeness – which strikes me as ironic, to say the least."  
"Well, like I said, I was stupid. I took off before she could reply, heading back to the main hold with the Togruta girl, who had clung to me – wide-eyed and silent – through the whole conversation.  
As soon as I entered the hold, I was overwhelmed by the refugees, wanting to express their profound thanks for rescuing them. Rida had been in earlier and given them something to eat, and there were piles of thin blankets strewn across the floor. Once I could breathe freely again, I set the little girl on her feet and knelt to meet her eyes, asking for her name and where her parents were. The poor thing just stared at me with eyes that were too old for a child's face. I thought maybe she didn't understand Basic yet, so I tried the smattering of Togruti I had picked up from a friend during my Primary days on Naboo. Nothing.  
A shadow fell over us, and I thought it was another grateful refugee, until I heard – 'Her name is Juhi Tey.' It was Kireta. 'Her mother was killed during the slaver's attack of our transport.'  
Suddenly, she was kneeling beside me, talking to Juhi Tey in fluent Togruti. As I watched, the little girl threw her arms around Kireta's neck, and she hugged her back with surprising tenderness. Then, Juhi Tey skipped off at an urging from Kireta, waving at me as she went.  
'What did you say to her?' I asked, still looking at the girl as she received a plate of food. I didn't dare look at Kireta – afraid of what I'd see on her face.  
Her voice was calm as she replied, 'I told her that she had nothing to fear from the bad ones anymore, and that she would have a safe home with me and my _aliit _on Concord Dawn.'  
I looked at her then; I couldn't help it. 'What's _aliit _mean – family?' She nodded, her expression unreadable. I was astonished. Why would this hardened woman from a warrior race hold out a hand of compassion to a small orphan girl?

She must have seen my disbelief, for she asked, 'You do not approve?' The eyebrow she arched high on her forehead told me she did not care in the least what my opinion was, but I gave it anyway.  
'No – I mean, yes – I do. It's just… Why do you care?'  
She didn't speak for some time – just sat back on her haunches, staring at me. Finally, she said in a low voice, 'Because I know what it's like to be alone in the universe. My _aliit,_ my _buir_…they took me in, though they had no reason to open their home to one such as I. She will grow up strong, as I did, and learn to reach beyond her grief to find herself again.' She stood, and I scrambled to follow. She had that speculative, cautious look in her blue eyes again. 'Come – sit with me, Sabé.' It was the first time she used my name, and I knew instinctively that there was some significance in that.  
We spent the remainder of the journey through hyperspace together, talking. I told her a little bit about my brother, my family on Naboo – but she was far more interested in my combat experience. Kireta was quite surprised that I had fought side by side with Jedi. She did not understand why the Order had been so involved in the liberation of a single Outer Rim planet. I could see right away that she did not trust the Jedi, and I remembered fragments of her people's history and their long-standing animosity of Jedi, or anyone deemed Force Sensitive. I wanted to ask her why Mandalorians felt that way, but it was not time for that conversation – not yet. I asked instead about her family. She told me that her _aliit,_ or clan, was one of the few remaining groups of Mandalorians still living in Republic space. The locals of Concord Dawn steered clear of their chosen area in one of the few major cities, labeling it the _Mando_ Quarter. Kireta also explained that her people were extremely suspicious of outsiders entering their domain, and no one was admitted into the Quarter without the express invitation of a member of one of the Mandalorian clans.  
'How does someone receive an invitation?' I asked her.  
The caution in her eyes intensified, and she answered slowly, 'They must prove themselves to be one who respects our culture, and have shown true spirit in battle.'  
She did not offer any further explanation, and I did not press her…but inside, I was bitterly disappointed. Mandalorians were recognized for their superior fighting skills; I only wanted to study them in training, and perhaps pick up a few tricks. I constantly felt the need to better myself – I knew it was only a matter of time until the galaxy fell apart; history is doomed to repeat itself, after all. I of course, thought that I met Kireta's prerequisites for an invitation, but I did not think she was convinced.

Eventually, we reached the rendezvous point on Derra IV, and the refugees were given the choice to board another vessel bound for several peaceable worlds – or seek their own passage elsewhere. Kireta and Juhi Tey were the last to leave the _Vanguard_ – Kireta asked to bid me farewell alone. Clutching tightly to Kireta's firm hand, little Juhi Tey beamed up at me and spoke for the first time, thanking me in thickly accented Basic. I bent down and hugged her, silently praying that the Mandalorians would not turn her into a heartless soldier. When I stood up, Kireta held out her free hand and I took it, gripping it in the traditional _Mando'ad_ manner that she had taught me. 'You have proven yourself, Sabé,' she said. 'After you visit your family, come to Concord Dawn. Go to the cantina called The Bloodstone and ask for Gaide. When he asks, tell him that Kireta Mereel invited you, and this is your proof.' She pressed something into my hand, closing my fingers over it. 'See you soon.'  
I watched her and Juhi Tey vanish into the crowds milling through the spaceport, then I opened my hand.  
It was a thin, battered scrap of metal, its scratched and faded blue paint flaking off. There were unfamiliar symbols on the underside, scribed onto the metal in black ink. I put it in my pocket and raised the boarding ramp, hardly aware of what I was doing. I got to the cockpit, and Shae turned to me with a huge grin, announcing that our run was a complete success and we would divide up the payment at his home.  
I spent a few weeks on Yalara with Shae, Riah, and their children – then I used a considerable amount of my portion of the credits to buy a small Corellian shuttle. Shae gave me a subspace comlink to get in touch with him, or vice versa, and told me to say hi to Mom and Dad for him. I told him that I wasn't headed back to Naboo just yet; I had something to take care of. Needless to say, he put two and two together…and he wasn't happy about it."

"He did not want you to go," Obi-Wan stated with certainty. "Not that I blame him."  
Sabé rolled her eyes – a gesture that she had undoubtedly repeated with her brother. "He was being ridiculously overprotective, and I told him so. It's not like I was picking a fight with them; Kireta was my friend – as much as a Mandalorian is capable of making friends – and besides, I wanted to see how Juhi Tey was adjusting to their lifestyle.  
Shae gave in – he always does – and made me promise to comm him the _second_ things got out of hand. He had nothing to worry about, I said; it was just a visit with a friend…who happened to be a citizen of the most dangerous and feared society in the galaxy. But I never said that last part. I just hugged him, promised to come back in a few months for a longer stay, and took off.  
Concord Dawn was nothing and everything I had expected. In a lot of ways, it reminded me of Tatooine – arid, hot wind sapped of moisture, clouds of dust swirling in the streets, and more than its fair share of questionable characters. I had dressed for the part; Riah had helped me select the form-fitting black jumpsuit and white spacer's jacket, and Shae made sure that I was well-armed: two blaster pistols," she patted the weapons still slung low on her hips, "each outfitted with repeaters and ammo regulators; a vibroblade, a mini shock pistol, and a handful of grenades. But…a young, attractive woman who spoke with a Core accent drew attention like a bantha attracts sand fleas. After threatening several would-be suitors, I made it to The Bloodstone cantina, and asked the barkeep where to find Gaide.

He pointed me in the direction of an enormous man clad in grey Mando armor, lounging in a far corner of the cantina. Gaide was looking right at me from the moment I walked through the door, and despite his intimidating size I refused to show fear – I worried that my invitation could be retracted. His face was deeply tanned, except for a thin scar that traced the left side of his jaw, and his hair must have been blond once – but was so bleached by Concord Dawn's sun that it had turned nearly white. He seemed mature, maybe about middle-aged, but the hard cast of his features made him look ancient beyond his years.  
I thought about Kireta as I approached his table, remembering how she moved and acted, and decided to emulate her. I sat down in the chair across from him, slouching casually, and crossed my legs. 'You're Gaide?' I asked.  
He smiled, but the expression was devoid of any emotion. 'You must already know who I am – else you wouldn't have sat down. You looking to hire? Then I suggest you try talking to the other patrons of this fine establishment. I'm busy.' He took a sip of his ale, his eyes daring me to provoke him.  
I realized that probably every Mandalorian was born to be blunt and direct, so I would do the same. 'Kireta Mereel invited me.'  
He set down his mug, the stare that was roving over my body appreciatively darkened with suspicion and turned more critical; he was assessing a possible threat. I held up the shard of metal, pinched between my fingers like a sabaac card. 'Here is my proof.'  
Wordlessly, he held out a gloved hand, his gaze never leaving my face. I dropped it in his palm, and he looked down at it, flipping it over. He seemed to be reading the symbols etched on the back, his eyes narrowing as the silence lengthened. Suddenly, he tossed the shard to me, and I managed to catch it without embarrassing myself. 'We leave at once for the Quarter.' Gaide grabbed his helmet from the seat beside him and strode towards the door without another word. I hurried after him, following his massive hulk to a speeder bike parked in a nearby alley. 'Get on.' He spoke through his helmet, and for a second I was overcome with indecision. What was I doing? I was placing my life in the hands of a Mandalorian, who could very easily decide to drive out to the middle of the wastelands, shoot me and then leave my body to rot and be buried by the endlessly swirling dust.  
Gaide revved the speeder's engine, and I jumped on behind him without completing another thought, except one. Kireta had saved my life by joining the fight against the Weequay guards. I had to believe in her people's sense of honor – not to outsiders, for they have none – but to each other.

We sped across the wastes – Gaide's armored body shielding me from the brunt of the blasting winds and grains of dust biting into my exposed skin – until we arrived at a section of the city that stuck out like a peninsula in an ocean. Driving through the streets, I noticed that every person was wearing some form of body armor, in a variety of colors. The speeder bike jerked to a halt, and Gaide pointed to a two-story building at the end of the street. 'The Mereel homestead. If you are who you say you are, Kireta will be waiting for you inside. If not – you will be shot as a trespasser.'  
I could feel his eyes on me even through his helmet as I jumped off the bike and walked towards the homestead. I was more than a dozen paces away from the door when it suddenly flew open, and a small, dark blur tackled me, thin arms wrapping tightly around my waist. _'Sab'ika!_ You came!'  
I looked down, dumbfounded, but all I could see was the tops of Juhi Tey's striped head-tails.  
'She has been anxious for your visit, as I'm sure you can tell.'  
When I saw Kireta, she had made a complete transformation. Though her diamond-hard features were still beautiful, she seemed more…at ease than when we were aboard the _Vanguard_. She was garbed in full Mandalorian body armor – the same color blue as the token she'd given me as proof of my invitation, and the breastplate had been painted with a lighter shade in a pattern that reminded me vaguely of reptilian scales. She stepped forward, hand outstretched, and I took it in a repetition of our last meeting. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two or three Mandalorians slide their hands away from their holstered weapons.  
Kireta invited me inside, and Juhi Tey fairly dragged me through the door, babbling in excellent Basic – except for the few slips into Mandalorian.  
The homestead was simple and unsophisticated, much like a moisture farmer's dwelling, and there were several members of the Mereel clan inside, already sitting around a large table. Kireta introduced me as the Nubian woman who had helped the smugglers, and whom she had invited to the Quarter."

Sabé paused here for a moment, her dark eyes clouding with uncertainty, and Obi-Wan discerned that she was leery of revealing the names of Kireta's family members. His suspicion was confirmed as she continued, "I met Kireta's father and mother, her grandfather, two brothers, an uncle, and three children, who grabbed Juhi Tey and pulled her to the far end of the table. I sat down beside Kireta, and was absorbed by this vivid, surreal scene. Nibbling on the food, I listened to the flow of conversation – not understanding a word of it, of course – but after a while I began to learn a few words and their meanings. _Buir _meant "father or mother", _babuir_ "grandfather", and _uj'alayi_ was the sticky, sweet cake that was served for dessert. And apparently, _Sab'ika_ was a _Mando_ moniker for my name, Sabé.  
Something tapped my arm, and Juhi Tey was standing next to me, eyes bright, her young face full of happiness, and she asked me a question in Mandalorian. I felt Kireta freeze in the seat beside me.  
'What?' I asked Juhi Tey.  
She seemed to realize her error, and repeated herself in Basic. 'Are you going to train with _Kire'ika_ and the others tomorrow, _Sab'ika?'  
_The room was deathly quiet.  
Juhi Tey's small face filled with fear, and the other children pulled her aside, disappearing into another room. I looked around the table, and every pair of eyes was focused on me – like laser points on a sniper rifle. Kireta stood up, and started speaking in hushed tones, gesturing to me and to herself, her phrases controlled and fluid, as if she had rehearsed them.  
When she finished, her father glanced at me, his stern expression lined with deep skepticism, and asked in a rough bass voice, 'And what does the _aruetii _think about your proposal, daughter?'  
Kireta looked down at me, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then she muttered, 'I told them that you are worthy to accept training, and that it is your desire to learn of our ways. You would complete as much of the training as you are able, given that you are not of our blood, but it is not an easy path.  
There are many who would oppose you – but if you agree to our terms, the Mereel _aliit_ will offer protection as long as you remain on Concord Dawn.'

'What are these terms?' I was pleased that my voice came out sounding relatively normal.  
Kireta gazed over that her father. He answered, 'You will live among us as a _Mando'ad._ You will not leave until the training is completed, or you are deemed incapable of finishing. You will also swear an oath that you will never reveal to your Republic what you have seen or heard, and you will obey the word of any ranking _Mando_ that crosses your path – especially that of your clan, and your sponsor, Kireta.'  
'And when my training is completed?'  
'You will be free to come and go as you please. The terms of your oath will have been fulfilled.'  
I agreed. Right at that moment, I swore to not speak of anything I learned or saw during the training, I would obey the elders of _Mando'ad_, and I would uphold the honor of the Mereel _aliit._ That's the night I received this:" Sabé rolled up her right sleeve to show Obi-Wan a black tattoo, inscribed on the soft skin in the crook of her elbow. It looked like just lines and swirls to Obi-Wan, but as he laid a fingertip over the ink, he felt the ceremonial significance, the meaning it carried, through the Force. "It's the Mandalorian symbol _ka'rta_, or heart," Sabé explained. "Kireta chose it because she wanted me to have a daily reminder that it took a strong heart to survive – in my training, and in life."  
Obi-Wan slowly removed his finger from her skin, and she rolled her sleeve back down, eyeing the Jedi Master carefully. "The next day, the toughest six and a half months of my life began. I had wanted a challenge, and I got it in spades. There were many days when I thought that I couldn't take any more…just to get up and do it again. And Kireta was right; many other Mandalorians, who thought it was blasphemous to teach their combat techniques and lore to a female outsider, opposed me. But the influence and prestige of the Mereel clan protected me wherever I went on Concord Dawn. Kireta was my near-constant shadow; she would drill me in the brief moments between frenzied motion on her people's history and codes of conduct. As the months progressed, I was able to spar with her and survive for more than a minute, and as I neared the end of my training, the Commander decided it was time for a little…experiment."

Obi-Wan straightened slightly, the vision of the imposing figure from Sabé's memory rising to the forefront of his thoughts. "This Commander…he was the man shouting at you during the storm?"  
She nodded. "More than anyone else living in the _Mando_ Quarter, he opposed my presence the strongest. At every turn, he pushed me harder than the other raw recruits, seeking to undermine my self-confidence. When he picked me for some unconventional training, I was more than a little wary – I was downright terrified. Kireta said that the reason he pushed me so hard was because he saw great potential in me, and just as their _beskar_ armor is forged through fire and the pounding of the hammer, I was being forged into a true Mandalorian warrior. She convinced me to take on the challenge.  
Kireta and I met the Commander at an area on the outskirts of the Quarter. He was alone – and as we approached, he called out, 'Kireta tells me that you fought with the Jedi, _ge'verd.'"  
_"What did he call you?" Obi-Wan interrupted curiously.  
To his mild amusement, Sabé blushed, embarrassment rippling off of her Force signature. "Nearly everyone called me that during my time on Concord Dawn. In Mandalorian, it means 'almost a warrior'. In Basic, it would roughly translate into 'wannabe'.  
She glared when Obi-Wan chuckled quietly, but there was no real anger behind her expression. "I told him that Kireta spoke the truth, and then he held out an object, clenched in his hand. I was not sure what it was until a bar of yellow light appeared, its hum filling the air." Sabé studied Obi-Wan's reaction carefully, wondering whether or not to continue. The Jedi Master remained motionless, genuine interest on his bearded face – but his blue-grey eyes sharpened.

"The Commander explained that the _kad'au_ – lightsaber – had been passed down through his family for generations. His ancestor, Bralor, had fought in the Mandalorian Wars and acquired the blade in single combat against a Jedi. How he had succeeded in defeating that Jedi was what every member of Bralor's line learned upon completion of their training. For some unknown reason, the Commander chose me. When I asked, he only said that I had shown the strength of will required to master this particular discipline.  
I am bound by the vow the Commander insisted that I take not to disclose any details…but I can give you a basic outline. You're smart – you should be able to figure out the rest.  
Since Mandalorians shun Force users, they had to invent ways to duplicate the mental prowess and unpredictability of Jedi, or Sith. The training was overwhelming for the mind and the senses. It forced me to find a center for my thoughts – to become absolutely still – so that my actions would not become visible until my body was already in motion. It also taught me to recognize the precursors for a Force attack; though it was unavoidable in a true fight, a few seconds of anticipation could be enough to prevent from getting slammed into a wall or electrocuted by Force lightning."  
"So it was training for your mind more than anything else," Obi-Wan said, brow furrowed in contemplation as he fingered his beard. "And this is what you intend to employ against the Emperor?"  
"I admit that my own skill has not been tested before today," Sabé flashed him a brilliant grin. "But it seemed to have some degree of success, did it not?"  
The Jedi Master slowly dropped his hand, staring at Sabé with a mixture of insight and incredulity. "That was what you were using against me – why your thoughts were so unfocused and chaotic. You were deliberately keeping your mind from concentrating on the information that I was seeking."

She nodded, grimly triumphant. "It is very difficult, especially countering the suggestions of a more powerful consciousness, but it does work. It's called _Jetiise Hukaatir_ – Jedi Shield."  
"But, I do not understand." Obi-Wan frowned at her, trying to solve this puzzle on his own, for he knew that Sabé would not break her vow. "When your thoughts began to take shape, you called up the visualization of Echani shadow-boxing – and then the memory of your training experience in the storm."  
His face suddenly cleared, lighting up with knowledge as he breathed, "You used it as a feint, shifting your focus to an event that required intense concentration, or a powerful memory that triggered a wave of emotion. And in the meantime, you were able to draw my attention away from what I was searching for, effectively trapping me within your subconscious." He looked at her expectantly, certain that he had unraveled the mystery, and feeling slightly awed that she had utilized this training so well during their test.  
Sabé was smiling, dark eyes sparkling with approval. "I knew you could figure it out."  
"Although, I sincerely hope that you do not have to discover how effective your 'Jedi Shield' will be against a mind as warped as Palpatine's," Obi-Wan remarked, and began unfolding his legs from his meditative posture.  
Sabé sprang to her feet quickly, looking down at him with her hands perched lightly on her hips. "So… do I pass your test, Master Kenobi?" she asked, a teasing smirk curving her full lips.  
"Hmm…" He eyed her critically, playing along, "I suppose you'll do. After all –" He raised a hand, and she grasped it, preparing to help him up " – beggars can't be choosers." He grinned broadly, positive that he had finally landed a verbal blow.

In response, Sabé promptly let go of his arm, and Obi-Wan hit his backside hard on the floor, air rushing from his lungs with an, "Oomph!"  
"You were saying, Master Kenobi…?"  
He scowled, barely resisting the urge to rub his injured bottom. "What I _meant_ to say…" He braced a palm on the floor and tried to push himself to his knees, "Is that you are the best equipped woman for this specific assignment."  
Sabé made a satisfied sound in the back of her throat; then she bent down, threw his free arm over her slender shoulders, wrapped her arm around his waist, and pulled him to his feet. Obi-Wan staggered a bit, but she seemed more than capable of supporting his weight. The crown of her head brushed the side of his face as she adjusted her stance, and he felt the silky-soft texture of her hair against his skin.  
Obi-Wan Kenobi was the definition of a Jedi. Anakin used to joke that his old Master had been born in the Order's traditional brown robes, quoting the Code even before he learned to speak. But to say that he was immune to the emotions and flaws that accompanied his humanity would be a vast understatement. He had experienced many such raw emotions in his lifetime: anger, fear, pride, and even love. Over the years, thanks in part to his training and the wisdom that comes with age, Obi-Wan had learned to recognize these feelings before they were allowed to manifest inside his heart. Therefore, the Jedi Master was able to maintain the serenity needed to counterbalance his turbulent Padawan and friend. It was part of the reason why he had been chosen as a member of the Council – for his tranquil spirit and keen point of view.

Yet now, from a simple, accidental touch, all those years of emotional control threatened to collapse.  
His heart was beating abnormally fast, and the room was suddenly too hot. His legs felt weak, but strength surged into his arms and subtly tightened his grip around Sabé's shoulders. More than anything else, Obi-Wan was amazed by how_ vivid_ his vision had become, as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes – a veil that he never knew had even been there in the first place.  
The head so near to his shone with brown hair that glimmered with traces of gold and copper, and he could just make out the curve of her satin-smooth cheek within the shadows. He found himself wishing that she would look at him…  
At that moment, the Jedi half of Obi-Wan subdued those ridiculous, adolescent notions with a flood of Force-induced calm. He was a Jedi Master, after all, just like he had told Sabé. Despite the way that Anakin had decided to live his life, there were lines that had been drawn millennia ago that Obi-Wan would never cross. He was content with how he lived – it was all he had ever wanted. It was only a one-time lapse in control, brought on by his wounded psyche and divided attention. And he put it from his mind.  
All of this had happened in the breadth of a few seconds. Sabé felt Obi-Wan's arm contract, and then relax, and glanced sideways, his profile visible from the corner of her eye. "Are you all right, Master Kenobi?" she asked, concerned.  
"Yes, I'm fine." He removed his arm from her shoulders, pulling away from her hold, and steadied himself by grasping the edge of the conference room's massive table. Sabé watched him get his bearings; his voice had been calm, as always, but she glimpsed signs of tension in the line of his jaw and the tendons of his hand as it rested on the tabletop. She erased the scrutiny from her expression as he raised his eyes to hers, smiling faintly. "And I would be most appreciative if you would call me Obi-Wan."

She looked unduly pleased by his offer to address him in an informal manner. "Obi-Wan," she paused, as if testing his name on her tongue, "Do you still need that painkiller?"  
"Normally, I would say that the Force would sustain me." He grunted, rubbing the space between his eyes, "But I think I must resort to the more standard means of relief."  
"If that means that you could use enough tranquilizer to put down a full-size gundark, then I'm with you," Sabé remarked, finishing her sentence with a long, drawn-out groan as she fell into a nearby chair, limp as a rag doll.  
Obi-Wan laughed – a full-throated sound that rumbled deep in his chest. "You do remind me of Anakin," he said amid low chuckles.  
She opened her eyes just barely, squinting at him. "That's what Padmé always says."  
Sabé watched Obi-Wan shuffle over to the control panel by the door, pushing the call button to summon a med droid. "There is something I'd like to ask you," she said as he made his way towards a chair. Waiting until he was seated, she spoke with her head leaning far back against the seat cushion, "When we first met on Naboo, and you were still a Padawan Learner – did you…_sense_ that I was not really the Queen?"  
"Qui-Gon taught me to be alert for deception on all fronts," Obi-Wan answered carefully, "But also to expect certain degrees of subterfuge when dealing with politics; secrecy is embedded in the nature of affairs of state. And at the time, the fog created by the dark side was growing stronger, and more dense, hiding many things from the eyes of the Order at large."  
Sabé just looked at him, her head lolling to the side. Then she said, "Is that a yes or a no?"

He sighed. "No, I did not sense that you were pretending to be Queen Amidala. As I said, both my Master and I expected to feel some level of conspiracy from the Queen and her aides – and in reality, you were only standing in physically for Padmé. She was still leading the entire operation, only under the guise of a handmaiden."  
"That's not going to work now, is it? I mean – the whole 'levels of conspiracy' thing." Sabé made a circular gesture with her hand.  
"Against the Emperor? I think not; at least, not in the same way." Obi-Wan sat up a little, pulling absently on his beard once more. "I believe that Padmé and Anakin were correct in telling you that Palpatine will expect some deceit from you, but he will also be highly sensitive to the smallest change in your Force signature. This assignment will be the greatest test of your abilities, Sabé. You must_ become_ Padmé Amidala – inside _and_ out."  
Sabé continued to gaze at him, even as the door of the conference room slid open and a med droid entered, floating over to Obi-Wan's side. "What can I do for you, Master Jedi?" the droid queried in a pleasant, feminine voice.  
"We are both in need of a moderate dose of pain medication." Obi-Wan gingerly touched his forehead. "We seem to be suffering from mild migraines."  
The droid insisted on conducting a cranial scan before administering treatment – and when their condition was confirmed, it gave both Obi-Wan and Sabé an injection directly into the carteroid artery, so blood-flow would carry the medication quickly to the pain's epicenter.  
"I recommend that you both head to the dining commons and consume several high-protein foods," the med droid ordered in a stern tone as it disposed of the sterile needle used on Sabé's neck.  
"I am hungry…" Sabé admitted, laying a palm on her stomach.  
"Then it's decided." Obi-Wan clambered to his feet, listening as the med droid gave him directions to the dining commons, and waited until Sabé stood next to him before moving towards the doorway.

As they walked – Sabé slowing her pace to match Obi-Wan's, and Obi-Wan pretending that he did not notice – he glanced sideways at her and commented mildly, "I suppose it's my turn now."  
"Your turn?"  
"My turn to fascinate you with a grand story of my feats as a Jedi." He quirked an eyebrow good-naturedly. "Though I don't think I have any material as exciting as joining a Mandalorian clan…"  
She elbowed him in the ribs, all the while wondering what had caused this sudden change of mood in him. Obi-Wan had gone from gravely serious to lighthearted and teasing in the blink of an eye. Or maybe he was usually like this and she did not know him well enough yet to anticipate his behavior.  
Either way, Sabé was reminded again of the sharp-eyed Padawan who had literally appeared out of nowhere to save her and her party from being escorted to a Trade Federation prison camp.  
She tapped her chin, feigning thoughtfulness. "Well…I can think of a story you can tell me while we eat."  
"What is it?"  
"Tell me about your fight with General Grievous."  
Obi-Wan shrugged, seeming nonchalant. "There's not much to tell. We fought – I won, he lost."  
"That's not a very grand story, Master Jedi. I'm feeling far from fascinated."  
"I'm working up to it," he protested, and Sabé stifled a giggle. Suddenly, Obi-Wan's nose wrinkled in distaste. "I do recall that I had to use a _blaster_ at one point. So uncivilized."  
She managed to keep a straight face. "What happened to your lightsaber?"  
"It…fell."  
A questioning eyebrow rose over one of Sabé's almond-shaped eyes, but she chose to ask a different question. "But didn't Grievous use lightsabers? I thought he took them from Jedi he had killed."  
Obi-Wan nodded in agreement. "Oh, yes. I seem to remember that he had four in hand during the course of our duel."  
_"Four?"  
_"I told you that it would be fascinating."

------------

**Pronunciations and Definitions  
**_**Mandalorian  
**__dekutla ad'i _(dee-KOOT-lah ahd-EE): "idiot girl"  
_ad'ika _(ahd-EE-kah): "child, kid"  
_Mando'ad _(MAN-doh-ahd): "Mandalorian" literal: "Child of Mandalore"  
_aruetiise _(ah-roo-ay-TEE-say): "outsider, one of 'them'"  
_hut'uun _(hoo-TOON): "coward"  
_aliit _(ah-LEET): "family, clan"  
_buir _(boo-EER): "father/mother"  
_babuir _(bah-boo-EER): "grandfather"  
_uj'alayi _(OOH-jah-LIE-ee): "dense, sweet cake coated with syrup"  
_ka'rta _(KAH-er-tah): "heart"  
_beskar _(bess-KAR): "Mandalorian iron"  
_ge'verd _(ge-VAIRD): "almost a warrior"  
_kad'au _(kahd-OW): "lightsaber"  
_Jetiise Hukaatir _(jay-TEE-say HOO-kaht-EER): "Jedi Shield"

_**Names  
**_Shaelon (SHAY-lahn)  
Riah (rhy-AH)  
Rida (rhy-DAH)  
Kireta (ky-RAY-tah)  
Mereel (meh-REEL)  
Juhi Tey (ju-HEE tay)  
Gaide (gayd)  
_Sab'ika _(sahb-EE-kah)  
_Kire'ika _(ky-ray-EE-kah)  
Bralor (BRAY-lor)

**Reference Material/Credits  
**_**Mandalorian language  
**_Karen Traviss (author of _Republic Commando_ series, _Bloodlines, Sacrifice,_ and _Revelation_)  
Wookieepedia

_**Mandalorian history  
**__Tales of the Jedi: The Sith War  
__Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic_ and _Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords_ video games

------------

**Author's Note**

I was strongly opposed to writing one of these until the end of my story, but I've come to the conclusion that this chapter merits an explanation. I'm sure that some of you must be thinking, "What does this have to do with anything?" I promise – every word of this chapter has significance to the future plotline.  
To be entirely truthful, I wanted the opportunity to take a character like Sabé – who has virtually no canonical background – and give her a soul, as it were. The idea of adding the Mandalorians sprang from the intermingling of their story and culture throughout the _Knights of the Old Republic_ video games, and was reinforced by the recent novelizations in the _Legacy of the Force_ series. I thought to myself, what could be more appropriately ironic than a Jedi supporter learning to fight against Force techniques from a society that bears an ancient grudge towards the Order?

Adding the Mandalorian language appealed to me as well, seeming to give this chapter more flavor and credibility, so to speak. It's been my goal throughout this whole process to put together the story that I wanted to tell, and give it enough depth to stand up as plausible fact within the Star Wars universe. I only hope that I succeeded in giving the _Mando'ad_ people a worthwhile interpretation.  
And before you ask – yes, I made up every character mentioned in Sabé's narrative (her brother Shae, Riah, Rida, Kireta, Juhi Tey, Gaide, and the Commander) – all except for the name that fans of the _Knights of the Old Republic_ games might have recognized. Bralor was a Mandalorian warrior at the camp on Dxun that the Exile met during _Knights of the Old Republic: The Sith Lords._  
Also, the _Mando'ad_ family name of Mereel is the clan from which Jango Fett's mentor, Jaster Mereel, came. Just a little tidbit you might want to remember for future reference…

Lastly, in regards to this chapter, I wanted to briefly touch on my decision to add some colorful brushstrokes to the relationship between Obi-Wan and Sabé. I know all those Sabéwan fans out there are probably ecstatic – but I have to confess that I felt conflicted about treading this uncertain ground at all.  
In fact, I held the viewpoint that Obi-Wan, despite the brief relationship he had with Siri Tachi in _Secrets of the Jedi,_ was set in his ways. And I liked him as such. To me, he always seemed like the guiding mentor and steadfast friend that Anakin needed him to be.  
But, since I've embarked on this journey, I've had numerous opportunities to 'get inside his head' – and I've come to realize that Obi-Wan Kenobi is a very complex character. I thoroughly enjoyed writing his reactions in this chapter, and look forward to unraveling some of his complexities while exposing even more tangled threads of his personality.

I'll close the door to my strange, whimsical mind now, with a few final words.  
Thank you. Thank you to all the wonderful readers out there who take the time to immerse themselves in this universe and feel like there truly was a happier course for the lives of Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala to take than the one given them. And thank you to those who reviewed, and continue to review with each posting. Your compliments and words of encouragement are the lifeblood of my creative muse; I owe each and every one of you.  
I plead with those of you who have not reviewed yet: please, please devote just a few minutes of your time to write a review. I would be every so grateful, and I cannot express just how much it means to me when I check my inbox and see that little "review posted" e-mail.  
Thank you for listening to my ramblings. Keep an eye out for the next chapter, which I will hopefully post within a month, at most. To satisfy your curiosity, and because you must have read through my whole note, I'll reward you with the title: _**The Road Unseen**_. We'll be getting back to Anakin, Padmé, and their now-shared conundrum in regards to their bond and the continuing influence of the dark side.  
Finally, if you would like to see the cover art for _Wait for Me,_ there's a link on myprofile page.  
Send in those reviews! And thank you again!


	24. The Road Unseen

**Chapter Nineteen  
**_**The Road Unseen**_

_"He is coming."  
_Jedi Master Yoda heard the words as they echoed softly in his mind, but kept his eyes closed, basking in the soothing current of the Force that was created by the array of plant life surrounding him.  
The arboretum had drawn the ancient Jedi with subtle, irresistible force. He was in desperate need of rest, both mental and physical, and the Living Force permeated this room like the vapor that rose towards the arboretum's domed ceiling. And because the Force coalesced into a concentrated sphere within the lush foliage, it strengthened the bridge between the mortal world…and the next.  
The spirit of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn was an invisible presence to the naked eye – but Yoda sensed his old friend and student beside him, sitting on the bench beneath the curved branches of a jade salix tree. Since Yoda had first heard Qui-Gon's shouted plea during his meditations over four years ago, each Master had sought to establish communication through the Force. The deceased Jedi contacted Yoda through a vision some months ago, and after the slaughter of their brethren across the galaxy, Qui-Gon was finally able to speak directly, rather than relying on dreams and visions. As a result, Yoda declared himself a student of Qui-Gon, asking the other Jedi to teach him how to maintain a consciousness after death and still be connected to the energy field of all life.  
Because of this, Qui-Gon was gifted with incredible insight into the will of the Force…and Yoda trusted his wisdom more than his own in times such as these.

"Feel him, you can?" the old Master murmured quietly.  
The answer came as whisper-soft as a breeze. _"Not directly. He is still an empty place in the Force, but he leaves a unique wake through the currents of the universe."  
_"Maintain the opinion you formed when you met the boy, you do." The statement was delivered in the softest tone, but full of conviction. "The Chosen One he still is, you believe."  
_"It is more than a belief, Master – I know he is. It is the only logical explanation for how he was able to affect the Force so strongly with his emotions."_  
There was silence for a few moments, but Yoda was undisturbed. He merely listened to the whispers of the trees as they conversed with one another through the Force. Then, Qui-Gon spoke again. _"Obi-Wan is beginning to understand, I think. He was always skeptical of the prophecy…but now seems to accept its truth."  
_"Speak to him, you should," the old Jedi muttered with a hint of reproof.  
In his mind's eye, he could see Qui-Gon slowly shaking his head. _"That time will come – soon, perhaps. At the moment, Obi-Wan is not ready to receive this knowledge." _His disembodied voice reflected a muted, melancholy sadness as he spoke of his former Padawan. _"I have tried to reach him in the past, and more recently as well – but he feels that my words are only echoes from his memories of me. His practical streak has served him well in many circumstances; regrettably, this is not one of them."_

The door of the arboretum slid open with a barely audible hiss, mingling with the gentle hum of the vaporators as they misted the foliage with moisture. Yoda did not yet succumb to the urge to open his eyes; though he could not sense who had entered, there was no question as to who it might be.  
Qui-Gon murmured urgently, _"I will remain as long as I can. If Anakin has discovered the danger of his bond to Padmé, then we shall proceed with the plan. Do not mention me until we are certain that he is ready."  
_The grizzled green head acquiesced with a slight nod, and Yoda sensed the deceased Master's essence become less focused, as if he had taken a few steps away from the other Jedi. Yoda seized a few more seconds of peace to center himself, inhaling the scent of earth and leaves deeply, before the approaching footsteps shuffled awkwardly to a halt in front of him.  
"Sit with me, young one," Yoda murmured, his large green eyes opening almost sleepily.  
Anakin seemed surprised – it showed plainly on his tanned face – but complied with the Jedi Master's request. Though instead of sitting on the bench, the young man sank into a cross-legged pose on the arboretum's multi-colored stone walkway, and his considerable height, coupled with Yoda's diminutive stature, had them at almost eye level.  
Yoda studied Anakin for a moment, noting the dark circles under his eyes that had been present since their conversation in the meditation chamber within the Jedi Temple, though the bruise-like shadows were not as prominent as before. There was also the presence of the same desperation in Anakin's piercing blue eyes that Yoda had glimpsed on that morning in the Temple, yet it was more subdued – tempered by a steadfast certainty that could only have been borne from an awakening to maturity. _He is learning, _the ancient Jedi mused inwardly. Then he spoke, "Discuss a matter with me, you do?"

Over a dozen replies flooded Anakin's mind in that instant, and he opened his mouth to blurt out the most pressing matter weighing heavily on his soul…then he remembered a fragment of one of Obi-Wan's lectures, and there had been many, in regard to his headstrong Padawan's disorganized thinking.  
"_Order your thoughts, Anakin; do not let them control you. Take a moment to arrange your reply before jumping headfirst into a conversation in which you desire to make a request or seek advice. All means of discussion are based on the art of diplomacy – a skill that, despite your extensive talents, seems to be beyond your reach."  
_Anakin was certain that at the time, he had countered his former Master's reprimand with either his standard eye-roll or stoic silence – but he doubted that Obi-Wan realized that he recalled nearly every word the Jedi Master had spoken to him in the last decade and a half. So, in lieu of his friend's advice, Anakin pressed his lips together and concentrated on forming a strategic response to Master Yoda's question.  
In the few seconds that passed, the wizened old Jedi felt the tiniest surge of pride rippling outwards from Qui-Gon – a sensation that resonated just noticeably within his own spirit. Anakin's descent into the black corruption of the dark side had increased his power, but it was the experiences that followed that had taught him to put aside selfish ambition and, for lack of a better term, grow up. While Yoda was convinced that the young man still had a long way to go in order to be ready to face his destiny, Anakin had just taken another small step in the right direction.

Eventually, the flicker in Anakin's blue eyes sharpened, and he replied, "I need your advice, Master."  
He looked aside for a moment, acutely reminded of the last time he had uttered those words – and the darkness that had followed – then continued. "I have already spoken with Obi-Wan, and we've come to a…consensus, but – but we both feel certain that you will have a greater understanding of the situation."  
Yoda dipped his grizzled head ever so slightly, wordlessly encouraging Anakin to continue.  
As water pouring forth from a broken dam, a detailed account of what he had sensed from Padmé, the horrified revelation that had followed, and the discussion with Obi-Wan flowed in a single, uninterrupted narrative. The inflection behind his speech gave Yoda valuable insight into Anakin's emotions, since he was invisible to the Force. And what the ancient Master was able to discern first caused him to sigh heavily with equal parts frustration and sympathy.  
It was fear.  
Yet, it was not as dark or razor-edged as before, and it did not stem from a particular source, such as his nightmares. This fear was less…focused somehow, encompassing a broad spectrum of events – though a fragment remained centered around the welfare of his family.  
Along with the fear was the durasteel-laden rigidity of determination, and the solemn melancholy of acceptance. The former was an easily distinguished trademark of the young man's persona, but the latter was a feeling that had not been present in all the years that Yoda had known the boy. And it was obvious from his explanation that Anakin had indeed realized that there was an unusual side effect to his soul bonding with another's.  
Perhaps that realization would make the next few moments easier for him to comprehend.

Once Anakin fell silent, his blue eyes pleading with the old Jedi for some type of resolution, Yoda folded his small, three-fingered hands in his lap and made a soft, croaking sound in the back of his throat. "This discovery you have made, an essential role it plays. But, the danger to Padmé – not as great as the danger this bond presents to _you."  
_"Me?" Anakin frowned in confusion.  
"Yes," Yoda replied with firm assurance, "Strong-willed and steadfast in belief, your wife is. Try to influence her, the dark side has – but it cannot succeed. Fear for her, you need not."  
"But Master –"  
"_You_, young Skywalker, are the prey the darkness most desires." Yoda glared at Anakin, chastising him for his impatience. "Reach for you through her, the dark side is. Right you were, in this logic. Realize you do not, that the combined strength of your feelings for each other – a shield it is, against these attacks." Anakin's eyes had grown wide, and his mouth hung slightly open. The ancient Jedi Master continued quietly, "Last forever, this protection will not. Only by remaining blind to the Force, safe you will be. This must not happen."  
"I don't understand," Anakin murmured, gazing into the inscrutable depths of Yoda's emerald-colored eyes.  
Yoda released a long, slow breath, looking away for a moment. When his eyes returned to Anakin, they pierced through his stare like a blade. "Open yourself again to the Force, you must, Anakin."

The only sound within the arboretum was the gentle, continuous hiss of the vaporators. Yoda's expression was full of seriousness and certainty; Anakin was virtually stunned, sitting motionless on the ground. Then, he began hesitantly, as if trying to explain the situation so that he himself could understand. "But, Master… The Force _left_ me. It – it wasn't there after what I did on Coruscant. I attacked it, and it abandoned me. I didn't…close myself off from the Force. That's – that's not possible."  
The barest hint of a smile played across Yoda's mouth. "And possible it is, for a life to exist _outside_ of the Force, hmm?"  
"Well, yes." Anakin shrugged helplessly. "Isn't that how non-Force Sensitives live?"  
"Ah…understand this concept, you do not. Those without Force potential, live outside the power of the Force they do not. Unable to feel it, they are – but influenced by it, their destinies are just the same. Strengthened by life, the Force is. Throughout the universe, its power flows." Yoda paused, pinning Anakin with a sharp, unyielding stare. "As it does through you."  
When the young man started to protest, the old Jedi Master huffed angrily and jabbed the tip of his walking stick into Anakin's shoulder. "Ow!" he cried out, massaging the sore spot with his flesh hand. "What was that for?"  
Yoda seemed to be looking at something over the top of Anakin's head, his brow furrowed. "The boy has no patience," he muttered. "Ready for this, you think he is?" The wrinkles on his forehead deepened while Anakin watched him in bemusement, still rubbing his bruised shoulder. Abruptly, the Jedi Master's attention shifted, and he remarked soberly, "Still connected, you are to the Force – and always, you will be. _Chose,_ you did, to close yourself off from it. Your feelings at that moment, what were they?"  
"I…" Anakin raked a hand through his tousled gold hair, at a loss as to where this very strange conversation was heading. "I was – angry. I felt like I was helpless, that no matter what I did or what choices I thought I was making on my own – I was still controlled by the Force. I – I didn't –" He stopped, blue eyes widening even further, the spark of recognition flickering in the cobalt irises. "I didn't want the Force to dominate my life anymore. I wanted to be free. And then there was this…explosion…and I felt – _everything_, all at once. And then I felt nothing."

"Mmm…" Yoda nodded his head several times, studying Anakin's face as the young man gazed blankly into space, lost in his memories. "Manipulate the Force, you did. Disrupt its flow, the natural order of the universe, with your will, you did. Such an action…impossible, we thought. But defy all reason, you continue to do." Bright blue eyes swung to the ancient Jedi's wrinkled face. "Closed off, you became to the Force, by your choice – your _need_ to be free. To reopen that connection, you must learn. On this, all depends."  
"Why?"  
Yoda regarded Anakin impassively, his biting retort echoing in the arboretum. Like quicksilver, he was on his feet, hands balled into fists at his sides, poised like the warrior he was – about to enter battle.  
"Why should I open myself back up to the Force? I'm _free _now! I can see and think clearly for the first time in my _life!_ Why should I go back to how it was before?"  
"Not the same, it will be, Anakin," Yoda tried to pacify the reckless young man.  
"I can't go back, Master." The ire-soaked voice transformed into a breathless plea, and Anakin's entire countenance mirrored his intense desperation. "I – I won't be able to fight it off. I can't risk it, not when Padmé – and the twins… Why does the Force need _me_ to do its will?"  
The answer was simple and immediate. "The Chosen One, you are."

They stared at one another, the room surrounding them suddenly devoid of all sound, save for the rushing noise of blood that filled Anakin's eardrums as his heart pumped thunderously in his ribcage.  
"Born you were, to bring balance to the Force," Yoda murmured just above a whisper, his large eyes reflecting a mixture of pity and hope. "Accomplish this, only _you_ can."  
"Then…then the Force won't use my children to –"  
"Powerful, your children are – but your destiny…not theirs, it is."  
Anakin felt oddly lightheaded, and random objects floated in and out of his vision, painted with unusually bright colors. The thing he had been most terrified of – watching his precious son or daughter pushed into his role as the bearer of some ancient Jedi prophecy – had turned out to be just another of his many unfounded fears. Luke and Leia were safe, and free to embrace their own destinies; there was no greater joy for him than that.  
But with the buoyancy of joy came the crushing weight of responsibility.  
He was still the Chosen One.  
It had been a tiny ember in the fringes of his mind for days, igniting shortly after the twins' birth. He had wondered as he lay awake, listening to Padmé's quiet, even breaths, if the Force could really be so easily thwarted by the attempts of one man. His ego had told him that he was free. His maturing common sense had whispered that destiny was not something from which one could escape.  
And then there was Obi-Wan. His old friend and mentor knew far more than he was letting on, and it showed more and more every day. Obi-Wan had never seen him as some prophesized hero; he saw only the boy whom he had trained, grown into a man. An exceptionally gifted Jedi, to be sure – but essentially human at the core.  
Yet there were times, just in the past day or so, when Obi-Wan would look at him with an unfamiliar stare. As if the older man were searching for the markings of greatness on Anakin's face – a glimpse of something other than his friend's well-known features. He expected these kinds of reactions from the general populace, and even some of the younger Padawans and apprentices at the Temple – but not from Obi-Wan.

If Anakin were entirely honest with himself, he understood that he had felt empowered by his status as the fabled Chosen One. He ate up the attention, letting it bolster his sense of pride, and he came to believe that it helped him focus his power during battle and exert himself to his full potential.  
In the end, the persona of "Chosen One" was only another mask that he wore. A mask that he forbade himself to don in Padmé's presence, for he never wanted her to see him as anything other than her Ani.  
And Obi-Wan…he would never be fooled by a mask, so Anakin never bothered to assume that persona while with his Master. He was usually too busy playing the "Dutiful Padawan" – not that it worked half the time, anyway.  
But being the Chosen One was not simply a facet of his former existence that he could cast aside. It was engraved within every cell of his body, etched upon the very foundation of his soul from time immemorial.  
It was inescapable, unavoidable.  
"_You have always been special, Ani. You are meant for something greater than the life of a slave. Go chase your dreams. I always knew that you would only be mine to hold for a little while."  
_A hard lump swelled inside his throat, and his mother's beautiful face, dark eyes warm and loving, swam hazily into view. The ghost of a caress from her weathered hand across his brow brushed his skin. Shmi had released him from her care clinging to the firm belief that her only child would fulfill some grand destiny. She understood that the life she had led would either drain him of his vibrant spirit, or get him killed because of his defiance. A mother's sacrifice, so that her son could truly live.  
Now that he was a parent himself, Anakin knew that he would never be strong enough to do what Shmi Skywalker had done for him fifteen years ago.  
But his mother had always known; he was special from the instant that she felt him move inside her womb. Qui-Gon's tale of the Chosen One had served as the catalyst to solidify her conviction of Anakin's uniqueness. In her mind, he was the one whom the Jedi were searching for – the one defined in their archaic prophecy. So she let him go, a small nine-year old boy brimming with unusual talent, her final words ringing endlessly in his ears as he followed a Jedi Master through the golden sands.  
"_Be brave…and don't look back. Don't look back."_

Anakin's eyes stung, and his cheeks felt wet. He wiped away the moisture with the back of his hand, blinking furiously to clear his vision. He had not thought of his mother in years – a vain attempt to block out his last memories of her as he held her beaten, limp body in his arms, watching helplessly as the Force ebbed from her essence. Suddenly he was there, kneeling on the floor of a Tusken Raider tent, tears flowing from his eyes as Shmi's bloodied palm weakly framed his jaw. She had said that she was proud of him.  
He had wanted to ask her why. Because he had become a Jedi? Because he had grown up into a strong young man despite their separation? He couldn't save her, and they had both known it. So why was she proud of him, when he had been too late to stop the leather whips from tearing into her flesh, the dull pounding of fists against her skull?  
Padmé was right, he knew. His mother had held on to life with every shred of willpower she had left in the hopes of seeing him again. She was proud of him because _he_ was alive – young and strong and well on his way to becoming a powerful Jedi Knight, as he had always wished. Because of his destiny – the destiny that had placed him in her life, to raise as her own – that was why she was proud of him. Because he could have chosen to ignore or discourage the power awakening within him, and instead decided that since there was no one else to contest Qui-Gon's claim, then he must be this prophesized bringer of balance to the Force.  
He wanted to make her proud of him again. He wanted Luke and Leia to be proud of him. Most especially, he wanted Padmé to be proud of him.  
He held onto the fleeting wish that there had to be another way…but like grasping grains of sand, it sifted through his mental grasp and floated into the ether on a breeze. There was no other way. He was who he was; not even the Force could change that.

His chin slowly rose, while calm certainty filled his lungs like a breath of fresh air, pulling energy into his weary form. The hands that had before been clenched with anger were now tightened by determination, and his muscles drew taut across his frame, straightening his spine. Blue eyes blazing with inner fire, he fixed Yoda with an indomitable stare that rivaled the brilliance of a thousand suns, and said four words in a voice that was at once resigned and adamant.  
"What must I do?"  
Yoda's eyes shone with approval. "Hmm…hmm…" rumbled softly from his throat as he nodded gently a few times, gazing up at the young man towering over him. Wordlessly, the old Jedi lifted a three-fingered hand and made a sweeping motion. In assent, Anakin sank back down to the ground, resting his forearms on his crossed legs. Yoda remained quiet until Anakin's gaze locked with his, and then murmured, "Turned a corner, you have, on the journey of your life. Take the next step, you must." A pause, and the ancient Master inhaled a deep breath. "Train you, I will, to be open to the Force again. A challenge, this will be, for us both – but necessary, it is. Begin immediately, we should."  
Predictably, Anakin voiced an instant agreement, saturated with confidence. "I'm ready now, Master." A tiny worm of doubt burrowed into his brain, whispering that he would never be ready to face the dark shadow within his soul, but he kept that doubt from his expression with some degree of success, he thought. Besides, Yoda was unable to read him in the Force, so the wise old being had no way of knowing just how unprepared he felt. It wouldn't be the first time that Anakin had leapt blindly without pausing to consider the consequences, but, as usual, he felt that he would be able to figure it out as he went along.  
But there was over eight hundred years of knowledge and experience studying him with emerald-green orbs – and those eyes caught every nervous fidget, the tiny bead of perspiration trickling down Anakin's temple, and the tightening of the skin around his eyes.  
Yoda shook his head in denial, wagging a clawed digit at the young man scoldingly. "Ready to begin this training, you are not. Time, you need, to understand your place."  
"My place?" Anakin asked with some confusion.  
"In the galaxy, in the Force, in the lives of others – a specific role and space you fill. Understand this, you must, before considered safe it is, to use the Force again."

Anakin was beginning to flush with frustration. Why did the old Jedi have to speak in riddles? If Yoda would just _tell_ him what to do, he would do it without question. "How am I supposed to gain this…understanding?" He added belatedly, "Master."  
It seemed to Anakin that an amused smile played along the edges of Yoda's mouth as he replied cryptically, "Discover that yourself, you will."  
Anakin visibly gritted his teeth, working hard to control a hot, bubbling surge of irritation. Just when he was convinced that he could speak to the small Master with some measure of respect, Yoda continued, musing in a quiet voice, "Proceed with extreme caution we must, when the time comes. Your Force signature – very unique, it is…and easily recognized."  
Irritation fled from Anakin's essence, and was replaced by an icy wave of apprehension. "Sidious," he remarked warily, sitting up straight. "He'll be able to sense that I'm still alive." At Yoda's nod, the words left him in a rush. "When he realizes that I'm alive he'll come after me; he'll search even harder than he is for my children. He won't stop until I fulfill my vow and become his apprentice. I'm a liability, Master – I'm not strong enough as a Jedi to defeat him. And if I don't turn back…he'll kill me. Then there will be no one to protect Padmé and the twins, no one to bring balance to the Force – "  
_Smack!_ Yoda jammed the bottom of his walking stick on the ground, right in front of Anakin's legs. The young man jumped, startled out of his hopeless tirade. Glaring sternly, Yoda said, "Dwell on the 'ifs', do not, Anakin. A plan there is, to keep Sidious blind to your signature." He fell silent, and Anakin fixed him with an intent, unblinking stare. "Places there are in the galaxy, that difficult it is to sense another Force user. Full of life, these places are – or bathed in darkness. Such a place, Dagobah is."  
"Dagobah…?" Anakin's brow furrowed deeply as he thought. The name seemed vaguely familiar, so it had to be a planet on the Outer Rim.  
"A sanctuary it is, for a Jedi wanting to stay hidden." Yoda folded his hands in his lap, his gaze level and firm. "Your training ground, it will be."  
He did not like where this conversation was leading. Anakin began cautiously, "I take it that this training…is for you and I alone?" The silent nod he received only served to reinforce the ice forming in the pit of his stomach. "But – Padmé will be on Naboo with Luke and Leia. She can't care for two newborns on her own." _And I don't want to leave her again._ "Who will help her? And protect them?"  
"Hiding in plain sight, Padmé said, I think," Yoda remarked slyly, though his eyes watched Anakin intently. "Safe, they will be. Check on them, Obi-Wan will, while gone, you are."

Though he fought valiantly, the shadowy, forgotten feelings of jealousy and possession flared in the depths of Anakin's heart. To have Obi-Wan there with his wife and their precious stars, when there was nothing he wanted more than to stay with them always…it ripped at his resolve, leaving bloody gashes in its wake, where his determination to fulfill his destiny used to be. Who knew how long he would have to be gone, subjecting himself to rigorous training under Yoda's strict tutelage? Children grew up so fast – even in a few months, Luke and Leia would be different. Would they still recognize him?  
And his angel, his Padmé… The bond that had melded their souls strengthened by the minute. How would the distance affect them? Would the bond stretch so far that it would break?  
A bitter, frigid blast of fear slammed into his chest, and his heart froze in mid-beat. He could not lose that link to Padmé. He would surely be lost without her light to temper the darkness yet lingering inside him. He needed her love, and the love of his children, in order to persevere.  
But the phrase surfaced, unbidden, floating above his frightened contemplations.  
"_Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose."_

Yoda saw that Anakin was fighting a battle between his noble character and his selfish fear…and he was losing. Having already foreseen an agreeable resolution to this conflict – for the moment – the ancient Jedi Master broke gently into the young one's tortured thoughts, "A few days you will have, to settle your family on Naboo. Centered, your mind must be, before your journey continues. Accomplish this you can, only in their presence."  
Frantic indigo eyes, the pupils dilated into wide, glistening onyx circles, latched onto the jade-skinned, wrinkled face. Anakin could plainly see the compromise in Yoda's placation, and was grateful – though it did not completely quell the dread gnawing an empty void inside his gut. "And then what?" he managed to inquire through a suddenly parched throat.  
"Take you to Dagobah, Obi-Wan will."  
Naturally, they would not leave him with a ship. Even if they removed every vital part, stripping it right down to the navicomputer and the most basic components – he would find a way to make it work, if it would take him to his family.  
There would be no escape, no reprieve – not like on Coruscant, when the monotony and emptiness of the Jedi Temple became too much to withstand, and he could hop on a transport to Five Hundred Republica to bask in the warmth of Padmé's steadfast love. He would be alone.  
_"You must trust yourself, Anakin."  
_Anakin jerked, the voice still reverberating inside his head. In his mind's eye, an image from his subconscious materialized, shimmering into focus like a mirage out on the Dune Sea: a middle-aged man with a kind, yet formidable demeanor, a slight smile on his bearded face, his shoulder-length dark hair pulled back in a half-ponytail, and his grey-green eyes sparkled like shards of polished beryl.  
"_You are the Chosen One. Trust in your destiny. Trust in your own strength of will. You are stronger than you know. Remember what I told you before the race."  
_His mind immediately flashed to that day, his nine-year old body trembling with anticipation as he sat in the Pod that he had built, looking up into the calm face of a wise Jedi Master that appeared utterly confident in a slave boy's ability to win.  
His words rang out once again, in the same low murmur. _"Feel, don't think. Use your instincts."  
__I don't trust my instincts anymore. I can't trust them, or myself. I've made too many mistakes.  
__"So you just give up? That is not like the Anakin that I remember."_

This time, Anakin actually looked around, his feelings a tumultuous mixture of disbelief and amazement. Those words were not echoes from his memories – it was like they were being spoken to him, right now.  
But it was impossible; Qui-Gon Jinn had left this world fifteen years ago – Anakin had seen his funeral pyre himself, had felt the tears stinging his raw cheeks as he stood beside a grieving Obi-Wan.  
Nearly every morsel of sage wisdom that his Master had shared with him during his training had come from Qui-Gon. Both he and Obi-Wan had missed the Jedi Master intensely in the few weeks after his death, but Anakin knew that Obi-Wan's grief was far deeper than his own. Qui-Gon had been like a father to him; and to see the man who had helped guide your life's path struck down in cold blood right before your eyes… Anakin often wondered if his best friend had ever fully recovered from the ordeal.  
Yet now, in the Polis Massa MedCenter's arboretum, Anakin could swear that the long-dead Jedi was with him and Yoda – almost like he was standing in the room. It was something he could sense, even though his disconnection from the Force still prevailed. He glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder, half-expecting to see Qui-Gon's familiar silhouette looming over him, wearing that expression of amused anticipation as he waited for a response.  
The trees seemed to stir in an intangible breeze, but there was nothing else there – that he could see, anyway. Anakin twisted back around to face Yoda, his thoughts and emotions in a quandary, and then he noticed that the ancient Jedi Master's eyes had not left him this entire time. Yoda's weathered face was alight with curious amazement, and he observed in a low whisper, "Hear him, you can. Unexpected, this is…" He pressed a finger to his mouth, pondering.

Incredulous blue eyes stared at him for a full two seconds; then Anakin blurted out, "What?"  
_Explain it to him, Master. He can be made to understand._ The voice that sounded like Qui-Gon's flowed through the stillness like a stream of cold water through the forest. Dumbfounded, Anakin could not resist the urge to look around for the source, and to his astonishment, he saw Yoda nod in response.  
"Full of mystery, the Force is," Yoda began, shifting slightly from his place on the bench. "Understood this, Qui-Gon did, even when he was an apprentice. Studied many teachings, he did, from the Jedi Archives. Discovered the Journal of the Whills, he did. Much knowledge, he gained, from the Journal – but reluctant to share it, he was. Unorthodox, were their teachings, and discouraged by many members of the Jedi Council. Practiced their techniques in secret, and hoped to pass on this knowledge to his Padawan, Qui-Gon did. But the Sith on Naboo…changed this, he did, by sending Qui-Gon to his death.  
Taught him, the Journal did, how to remain self-aware after departing this world. A choice it is, to become a spirit, and wander separate planes of existence. Gone on this way, he has – watching over you and Obi-Wan. Yet unable he was, to contact either of you. Lingered in silence, he has…until now."

In spite of all the unbelievable circumstances that surrounded him since the moment of his conception, the Chosen One was having a very difficult time wrapping his mind around the idea of a dead Jedi Master's spirit wandering the galaxy, watching and waiting. He opened and closed his mouth several times, each sentence sounding more ridiculous than the previous as he mulled them over inside his head. Finally, he phrased a question that whittled down all of his innumerable thoughts into the simplest form. "So you're telling me that Qui-Gon is _here_," Anakin pointed with one finger at the ground in front of him for emphasis, "right now?" The grizzled head inclined just visibly. Anakin leaned backwards, overwhelmed. "I always felt like he was still with us – Obi-Wan and I – though he said it was because of our shared memories of him. And on Praesitlyn…" His blue eyes clouded, darkening to cobalt around the edges.  
He had wanted so badly to kill those Separatists who had surrendered, but then he had heard – "I heard his voice," Anakin continued, "and it stopped me from adding more lives to my conscience."  
"Heard him I did, four years ago," Yoda put in quietly. "Crying out, he was, during my meditations. Felt death, suffering, and pain, I did." His green eyes sharpened, boring into Anakin. "_Your _name, it was, that he shouted."  
"Mine?"  
"A great wave of pain, there was, emanating from you in the Force…and darkness."  
_Tatooine.  
_The whisper swept over them like an icy wind, freezing the blood in Anakin's veins. His stomach clenched, as if he had been punched in his solar plexus by an iron fist.  
The Tusken camp.  
Silvery moonlight bathing the chilled desert in an ethereal glow. The pungent smell of campfire and bantha hide. His mother's body draped across his lap, devoid of life. The black fire that called to him through his grief and despair, turning it into rage and power.  
Four years ago would be about right.

He had never told Obi-Wan. He had been too ashamed to have disregarded his Master's training so easily, and too prideful to attempt a justification for the slaughter of an entire village.  
Padmé was the first one he had told – and originally, he had planned on her being the only one to share in his self-imposed burden. In all honesty, he would have preferred not to have spoken those words to her, to have his confession conjure up images of cleaved bodies lying on the bloodstained sand inside her mind... but as soon as she asked him what was wrong, it had just come pouring out of him.  
Afterwards, she never brought it up again, and he never felt judged by her; the only impression he had received from her through the Force was that undying compassion that seemed to be embedded within her very core.  
The Chancellor had offered him compassion and sympathy, as well. An understanding ear, an encouraging word, and Palpatine had all but convinced him that the murders he had committed were completely reasonable, given the circumstances. He had promised to not bring it up again.  
"_It is only natural. He cut off your arm – you wanted revenge. It wasn't the first time, Anakin. Remember what you told me about your mother, and the Sand People?"  
_With a concentrated mental effort, Anakin shoved aside all thought of the Sith Lord, only to be confronted with the gaping maw of guilt. Qui-Gon had found him, a stocky little boy working in a junk shop on a backwater planet, with a midichlorian count exceeding twenty thousand. The unconventional Jedi had believed in him wholeheartedly, proclaiming sternly to the assembled Council members, "He _is_ the Chosen One; you must see it!"  
The thought that the man who had helped grant him his freedom, who had all but defied the Jedi Council by declaring that he would train the boy deemed too old to join the Order, had seen him take his first steps on the dark path without hesitation…it churned in Anakin's abdomen like a sickness.

_"It is not _my_ disappointment that torments you, Anakin. It is the disappointment you have in yourself."  
_Qui-Gon sounded faintly sad, but there was no trace of a judgmental sting in his observation. _"You trusted the woman you love with one of your darkest secrets, but you have allowed that secret to fester within your own heart. It is the only aspect of your Trials that you have yet to pass."  
_Anakin shivered, unable to suppress the reaction. _The confrontation of self, _he silently murmured.  
"_You are right to feel fear. This test will come upon you soon – but you will be ready, once you have learned to trust in yourself."_ His voice faded towards the end, and as though watching from a distance, Anakin saw Yoda's pointed ears swivel suddenly, as if perceiving a faraway noise.  
Then, the ancient Master spoke, continuing his narrative as though Anakin had not interrupted. "Spoke to me, Qui-Gon did, on my journey with Senator Organa. Learning from him, I am, to accomplish what he did after death. Assist, he will, in your training."  
Anakin clambered to his feet slowly, needing the motion to somehow anchor his mind to the physical environment. Walking over to the salix tree just beside Yoda's seat, he braced a palm on its silvery bark, before turning and leaning his well-muscled back against the trunk. He stared hard at the ground, working through these revelations inside his brain. Abruptly, his blue eyes flashed sideways. "Does Obi-Wan know?" he asked.  
Yoda regretfully shook his head. "Time, Obi-Wan needs, before accept this news, he can."  
The young man nodded once, as though he understood this reasoning, and crossed his arms over his chest. He inhaled deeply through his nose, and said very quietly, "When does my training begin, Master?"  
"Leave today, I will, for Dagobah." With a tiny grunt, the wise old Jedi came to his feet, hobbling over to Anakin as the young man stood gazing upward at the canopy of leaves with an agonized expression. "Senator Amidala's decoy, departs for Coruscant tomorrow, she does. Leave then as well, you and your family will. One week, you have, before Obi-Wan comes to Naboo."  
Anakin swallowed hard. "Yes, Master," he replied in the barest whisper.  
He heard Yoda sigh heavily, the tip of his cane thudding dully on the ground as he took as few steps towards the door. "May the Force be with you, young Skywalker."  
By the time Anakin looked down, he was gone.

He slowly came away from the tree trunk, circling around the bench before virtually collapsing on it. He sat slumped over, cradling his head in his hands, numbed beyond all feeling.  
One week.  
One week, and he would have to say goodbye to Padmé, to Luke and Leia, for an indeterminate amount of time. The hyperspace jump from Polis Massa to Naboo would take approximately two days – and provided that they had a relatively smooth landing while avoiding Port Control, it would give him just about five days with his family.  
_It's not enough time, _he lamented inwardly.  
_"You cannot escape your destiny, Anakin."  
_Anakin scarcely acknowledged the words. His eyes felt hot and gritty; a durasteel vise was squeezing his heart. He muttered bleakly, "I should have known that you would still be here. Obi-Wan never leaves me alone, either."  
Qui-Gon chuckled. _"He picked up quite a few habits from me, it's true." _His tone shifted, becoming more conciliatory. _"But even without the Force, my young friend, you know that this is the path you are meant to take."  
_"Yes…I do." He let out a breath. "I hate that I know it, but I do." Raking his hands through his golden tresses, he pushed himself upright, and stared absently at a cluster of saplings across the room. "I'm just not sure how to reconnect with the Force. I don't even know how it happened in the first place."  
_"The answer will come to you, Anakin, and you will find a way. You always do."  
_"Can _you_ tell me how I did it?"  
The deceased Jedi Master replied hesitantly, _"You are incredibly powerful, Anakin. The Force is so much a part of you that at times you seem to be a physical extension of its will. But, as you demonstrated, that influence can be reversed. Through sheer force of will, you were able to redirect the currents of the Force and sever your link to it, as well."  
_"All because I'm the Chosen One," Anakin lowered his gaze, leaning over to place his elbows atop his bent legs and clasped his hands together loosely.  
_"No, my friend." _Qui-Gon's low, accented tone softened, and became almost fatherly in nature. _"While the gift of your power is a sign of your status as the Chosen One, it is not the reason behind what you did to yourself, and to the Force. That power came from _who you are_ – the undeniable strength of your heart. It is that which makes us truly unique that gives us our strength."_

It was exactly the sort of thing that he expected Qui-Gon to say, and although it was hardly crystal-clear in meaning, Anakin found the words to be oddly soothing.  
He wasn't exactly sure what to do at the present moment. The skiff was fixed, not that all of his extra precautions mattered much, since the twins would not be aboard this vessel anyway – and while he would love to take a closer look at the _Aiwha_, he was willing to bet that Sabé had locked it tight in the docking bay; it was what he would do. So he stared absently at his thumbs as they twiddled slowly, just waiting for the silence to get to him and force him to find another activity.  
Actually, what he was really trying to accomplish was keeping his mind focused on something other than his agreement with Master Yoda. Because the prospect of being open to the Force once more called forth a bone-deep, undeniable dread within his heart. There was nothing he feared more than that loss of control – the single slip that would send him careening into black oblivion, separated from everything and everyone he had ever loved.  
Anakin's head rose slightly. "Qui-Gon?" he called softly, hesitantly. "Are you…still here?"  
_"Yes."  
_Relief filtered like a breath of cool, clean air into his lungs. Studying the ceaseless motion of his thumbs, Anakin began in a low voice, "From…wherever you are, you can see the universe in a broader scope through the Force."  
_"That is true." _Qui-Gon sounded pleased that Anakin had worked this out on his own. _"While I would hardly call myself omniscient, my present condition does allow me glimpses into the will of the Force – though I must confess that more often than not I am unable to understand it."  
_"Can you see the future?"

Anakin could not define the motivation behind his asking of that question, but it was too late to take it back. Of course, by the silence that seemed to stretch out endlessly in the wake of his query, Qui-Gon must be attempting to form some type of logical response.  
_"Anakin…" _Qui-Gon said his name along with a sigh, but he did not sound weary or exasperated. In fact, if Anakin were to label the feelings that he detected in the Jedi Master's tone, he would call it…empathy. _"I am quite certain that I do not need to remind you of your lessons about gazing into the future."  
_"'Always in motion, the future is' – yes, yes, I know." He realized that he sounded more bitter than he intended, but he did not rescind his remark. Qui-Gon would understand where he was coming from; Qui-Gon had always appeared to understand his emotions and reactions better than anyone else – well, better than any other Jedi. Anakin continued quietly, "I just thought – since you can see more now… Maybe you would have a clearer picture of what's going to happen."  
There was a small noise, like a wisp of wind as it brushed past a tiny leaf; if Anakin could see him, he imagined that Qui-Gon had just taken a seat beside him on the bench, folding his arms across his chest in the manner that Obi-Wan mimicked so perfectly._ "My vision of the future is no more precise than any other Jedi's. I catch flashes now and then, but they are so muddled that I become swiftly confused by their imagery. If I were to compare it to anything, I would say that my precognition is much like your dreams, Anakin."  
_Dreams. He had forgotten all about his dreams. They had offered visions of coming events for as long as he could remember – it was a normal part of his existence, if there was anything about him that could be called 'normal'. Half the time, his sleep was sprinkled with nothing more than average dreams spawned by his own imagination…but a vision – _those_ he could recall down to the smallest detail.  
"_The Force shows what it will to whom it will," _Qui-Gon said gently, _"Not even you can oppose that, Chosen One. Despite how you may resent your sleep being invaded by possible futures, your foresight is a valuable gift. It is what has kept you alive since you were a small boy on Tatooine – and more recently, on the battlefield."_

Anakin nodded – just a slight jerk of his lowered head. It was true, what Qui-Gon had said – Anakin's ability to see things before they happened was what had allowed him to become the only human to participate in the Pod Races, and it had served him well all throughout his Jedi training and during the Clone Wars. But that ability he would simply classify as quick reflexes, bolstered by his innate talent to immerse himself fully in the Force until his world was reduced to motion and instinct.  
The visions that came to him while his conscious mind rested was another matter altogether. There was not one among them that had not come true…save the most recent.  
His dream of his older self as a Jedi Knight had come true, as had the vision he had seen the night before the Boonta Eve race of Padmé leading an army into battle. And the disturbing images of his mother that had haunted his sleep during the weeks prior to her death had warned him of the pain that was to come.  
His thumbs paused suddenly, halting from the constant motion, and his eyebrows came together as he frowned thoughtfully.  
All of those dreams, along with the one that he wished to permanently erase from his mind, had spoken to him of the future – but only the last two had caused him to physically react, just like a nightmare.  
Was there some significance in that? Or was it just because his visions as a child were not so violent, and his heart was no longer as innocent? Had he become more susceptible to the Force with time and training?  
Was that the reason why those two visions had affected him so strongly?  
Anakin shook his head from side to side quickly, muttering, "I'm so confused."  
He did not realize that he had said that out loud until Qui-Gon murmured, _"Understanding will come to you in time, my friend. But for now, keep yourself centered in the present moment." _He released a slow breath, and then remarked mildly,_ "I would suggest that you find your wife and have her and your children cleared for space travel as soon as possible; you will be leaving for Naboo in the morning."_

"Wait." Anakin was on his feet in a single, fluid motion. He glanced about the room, blue eyes intense and his expression firm. "Where are you?" he asked, his gaze flicking around the arboretum in a vain effort to locate the Jedi Master's spirit.  
_"I'm right in front of you, Anakin."  
_Even though there was nothing visible except empty space, Anakin looked straight ahead, picturing Qui-Gon's wise grey-green eyes in his mind. The young man's face reflected earnest appeal as he spoke humbly, "I owe you an apology, Qui-Gon. You believed in me, you risked everything to put me on the path of a Jedi, and I – I feel like I have let you down."  
_"Anakin –"  
_He held up a hand, palm outward. "Please let me finish." Inhaling a deep breath, Anakin resumed, "I used to think that I was invincible – that being the Chosen One was some kind of talisman or defense against the lure of the dark side, because I was supposed to bring balance to the Force." He let out a short, mirthless chuckle. "I figured that I would always be the good guy – defeat the Sith, balance the Force and live happily ever after. I was so blinded by my self-importance and fame that I couldn't see, or I ignored, what was stalking me from the shadows.  
It was so _easy_ to attack the guards outside the tent that held my mother's body. And after they fell, more Raiders came, and they died, too. I could have stopped then. I could have left. But I didn't. I went looking for the rest of them. They didn't deserve to live when my mother was dead because of their cruelty."  
A droplet sparkled through the air as it fell from one bright blue eye, splashing unheeded on the stone pathway. "I didn't know anything else outside of that moment but the rage coursing through my blood, my thirst for vengeance. I wish that I had heard you, Master – I wish that you had stopped me…because I couldn't stop myself." Anakin bowed his head. "I am so sorry that I let you down."  
_"Anakin…"_ Qui-Gon's tone was warm with sympathy and caring. For just a moment, Anakin thought that he could feel the slight, reassuring pressure of a hand on his shoulder as the Jedi Master replied, _"How you have grown from that precocious little boy I met on Tatooine. I'm proud of you."_

His head snapped up. "Master?"  
_"Your willingness to recognize and admit your own flaws is a talent that far too few in the galaxy employ. With this admission, the darkness clouding your future has lightened even more. But I am afraid that I cannot accept your apology. You have nothing to apologize for."  
_"But I –"  
_"I have celebrated with you, I have feared for you, and I mourned for you…but I have never been disappointed by you. Despite your fall to the dark side, you have emerged even stronger than before." _Anakin could hear the smile in his voice as Qui-Gon proclaimed, _"You continue to exceed my highest expectations." _He suddenly laughed, louder than Anakin had ever heard him laugh in life._ "And you should close your mouth."  
_Anakin's teeth came together with an audible click as he made a conscious effort to raise his dropped jaw.  
In the face of all the mistakes he had made, the lives that he had selfishly destroyed – what had he done to deserve this kind of unconditional mercy? How did the cosmic scales end up balancing so favorably for him?  
As if he could perceive Anakin's thoughts, Qui-Gon murmured softly, _"Mercy is a gift, my friend, and forgiveness must be accepted before healing can begin." _His words seemed to fade in volume, like he was stepping away, looking back over his shoulder as he left. _"But now I must go; I have lingered too long. I will not speak to you again until you reach Dagobah – I must conserve my energy." _By now, his voice was barely a whisper. _"May the Force be with you, Anakin."  
_"May the Force be with you," he returned the farewell automatically, but doubted that the Jedi Master had heard him. If someone had told him before he entered the arboretum that he would have a conversation with the spirit of a deceased Jedi, he would not have believed it. The entire experience wrapped him in a surreal feeling, as if he was treading the border between dreams and reality.

Anakin glanced around at the arboretum, not having really noticed his surroundings earlier, and his eyebrows rose impressively. It was quite beautiful in here, and not something one would expect in an Outer Rim asteroid colony MedCenter. He looked down at his booted feet, his eyes slowly following the multi-colored stone path until it disappeared around a bend, swallowed by the dense evergreen foliage.  
The symbolism was not lost on him.  
'…_the darkness clouding your future has lightened even more', _Qui-Gon had said. While that was indeed comforting, it still did not tell Anakin exactly what the future held for him and his family. The only way to find out was to take one step – and then another, and then another.  
Anakin began following the path, shoulders squared, head held high as he kept his stare fixed forward.  
The road ahead of him was uncertain, and the destination unseen, but the path beneath his feet was firm and immovable.  
All he had to do was keep on walking.


	25. Meetings and Partings

**Chapter Twenty  
**_**Meetings and Partings**_

Early morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the Palace's main hall, creating ribbons of yellow light that separated the towering marble columns standing guard like faceless sentinels, silently telling Sola that she did not belong in their world. This world belonged to her sister – not to her.  
"_Don't allow yourself to feel intimidated. You know who you are; show everyone else that you know."  
_Sola heeded the reminder of Padmé's advice, spoken many years ago when the two of them had applied for positions in public service. Padmé had immediately been chosen as a Junior Representative in the Galactic Senate. Sola had been encouraged to pursue a more conventional apprenticeship. But there was never any friction between the sisters; both she and Padmé had taken the paths that their lives were meant to take, and neither of them had regretted it.  
Until now.

Sola barely resisted the urge to smooth the front of her skirt for the umpteenth time as she followed a Palace servant to her scheduled meeting with the Queen. The plum and lilac fitted brocade jacket and floor-sweeping skirt had been a birthday gift from her sister two years ago. Sola had complained that while the outfit was unbelievably gorgeous, she had no reason to wear such an elegant garment. Now she wondered if it was nice enough for an audience with Naboo's ruler.  
Padmé had commented that Queen Apailana was fair and even-minded, and had said with a slight smile that their few conversations led her to believe that the thirteen-year old monarch was a lot like she had been during her reign as Queen. It was obvious to Sola that Apailana held her little sister in high esteem, as she had reappointed Padmé as Naboo's Senator shortly after her own election. She only hoped that the Queen had more to offer as an explanation for Padmé's inexplicable absence from the capital.

Their footsteps drummed out a staccato rhythm that echoed ominously throughout the cavernous halls, and Sola's wide blue eyes started to roam, looking around with a muted sense of awe, though she had visited the Palace numerous times in the past. The architecture was elegantly majestic without seeming overbearing, and every room was meticulously cared for, as it was public belief that Theed Palace belonged to the people of Naboo – not to their elected rulers and dignitaries.  
They passed the Royal Portrait Gallery in the East Hall – a common stop for tourists and young students in Primary – and Sola abruptly halted, staring at the portrait to the right of the doorway.  
From Naboo's earliest days of established government, each king or queen had their image immortalized by the most gifted painter in the capital, rather than recording a simple holo-image. Tradition was the lifeblood of Nubian hierarchy, and there was something…_special_ about glimpsing an oil-and-canvas representation of celebrated figureheads from ages past.

The painting that had caught Sola's eye was of a young Queen on the threshold of womanhood, garbed in flowing crimson robes embroidered with gold thread and trimmed with glossy brown fur. Upon her head was set an elaborate curved headdress, her chestnut hair smoothed into a large half-circle and glistening in the light. An enormous red gem sparkled over her white-powdered forehead, the twin dots on her cheeks and scarlet Scar of Remembrance splitting her full lower lip standing out in sharp relief on her youthful face. And her eyes, though they were only two-dimensional, hinted of intelligence and mischief in their shining dark brown irises. Her chin was tilted slightly, almost imperiously, while the barest suggestion of a smile played along the corners of her mouth.  
Sola was unaware as her feet carried her towards the painting, so transfixed by the young woman residing within the framed artwork that she did not stop until she was less than a meter away. The surrounding paintings seemed to stare haughtily down at her from their lofty positions on the rounded wall, but this Queen appeared to welcome Sola with her eyes; indeed, she was half-inclined to believe that at any moment the woman would open her mouth and speak in greeting.

"It is quite striking, isn't it?"  
Sola whirled, gasping in surprise. A broad, white-haired man was standing only a dozen steps to the left side, his bearded face turned not towards Sola, but to the painting on the wall. After her startled expression began to fade, recognition brightened in her wide-eyed stare and she curtseyed hastily – an automatic reaction hailing from her days of studying Naboo politics. "Governor Bibble," Sola breathed.  
His light green eyes did not waver from the painted Queen. He took a step closer. "The artist finished this painting the morning of the Trade Federation invasion. He said that it was one of his most magnificent pieces." He glanced at Sola from the corner of his eye. "The resemblance between you two is obvious – for those who know to look for it." Governor Sio Bibble of Naboo turned to fully face her, a slight smile on his weathered face as he reached for her hand, shaking it warmly. "It is a distinct pleasure to see you again, Milady Naberrie."

"It is good to see you again as well, Your Honor," Sola returned, effectively masking her astonishment. She had not spoken to the Governor in over a decade, and even then it had been during a somewhat bland state dinner Padmé had invited her and Darred to attend towards the end of her second term as Queen.  
Bibble's gaze drifted back to the painting, sobering considerably. "I assume that is why you are here; to appeal to Her Majesty for any information on your sister's whereabouts."  
Sola withdrew her hand from his with a sigh, glancing sidelong at the portrait as well. "I'm afraid so, Your Honor. My entire family is deeply worried, as I'm sure you can understand."  
"Of course, of course," he murmured in a low voice, nodding sadly. "It also seems that Senator Amidala's absence from the Senate is creating quite a tangled predicament on Coruscant. Representative Binks has his hands full, and he is ill equipped to deal with so many difficult issues. I have just come from a council meeting to determine if we should appoint a temporary envoy to Amidala's seat – one that would serve Naboo's people nearly as well as their elected delegate."

"What has happened?" Sola asked before she could consider the impertinence. She opened her mouth to apologize, but Governor Bibble began speaking.  
"Emperor Palpatine has introduced a new mandate to the constitution: a Civil Service Amendment." It was clear from the barely concealed disgust in Bibble's tone that he, like many citizens of Naboo, did not agree with their former compatriot's decisions. "Any system, planet, country, city, village, home or person found to be harboring Jedi fugitives will be regarded as a criminal, and charged with high treason."  
Sola's fingers flew to her mouth, stifling her shocked rush of air. _High treason._ Even on a tolerant planet like Naboo, the crime of high treason was punishable by immediate execution – provided that there was evidence and witnesses to confirm such an act. She doubted that the new Imperial regime would require even that before sending a suspected traitor to their death.  
Bibble continued bleakly, "It is therefore the duty of all Imperial citizens to report any suspicious activity in their cities or other various dwelling places. No one is above question – 'to keep us _equal_', Palpatine said."

"It's all for our _benefit_, I'm sure." Sola's hand balled into a tight fist at her side, and she fought to keep her body from shaking with rage. "To promote the stability of our _safe_ and _secure_ society, no doubt." She huffed out a short puff of breath. "This cannot be allowed to continue, Governor. Someone has to act. Someone has to do something before the whole galaxy falls apart at the seams." Blue eyes shooting sparks, Sola blinked in confusion when she saw the satisfied gleam in Bibble's pale, jade-colored gaze.  
Seeing her puzzlement, he merely commented, "You remind me so much of your sister. I imagine that she would have said something very similar in response to such dire news."  
The sound of a clearing throat caused them both to look to the Gallery's arched entry. Sola flushed with embarrassment as she recognized the Palace servant who was supposed to be guiding her to her audience with Queen Apailana. Governor Bibble seemed unfazed. He took Sola's hand again, patting it lightly with the other as he remarked quietly, "I sincerely hope, for the ease of mind of your family, and for Naboo's sake, that Senator Amidala is found soon. Do not lose heart." He released her hand, backing away, and inclined his head in farewell. "Milady Naberrie."  
"Your Honor." As the governor departed, Sola strode swiftly to the entryway, her cheeks feeling hot as she approached the servant. "Forgive me," she stammered, "I was…distracted by the painting of –"

"It is of no consequence, Milady Naberrie," the servant interrupted. "The Queen is not yet finished with an important conference, and has requested to meet with you in her private salon." He gestured sideways, and Sola suddenly noticed the petite, dark-haired woman standing silently at his elbow, dressed in a thin, silken indigo hooded cloak, embossed with the Royal Crest. _A handmaiden_, she realized. "Keialé will take you there."  
"Please follow me, Milady," Keialé said in a soft, musical voice. She spun on heel and headed for the wide, sweeping staircase directly behind her, her cloak rippling like water around her slender form.  
Sola trotted after the handmaiden, intent on not being left behind this time while telling herself repeatedly to not behave like a nervous twit in Apailana's presence.  
She and Keialé walked in silence, turning this way and that until Sola felt thoroughly lost. She wondered fleetingly if she was supposed to find her own way out after the meeting was over; if so, she would be wandering the Palace halls for the rest of her natural life.

Finally, the young handmaiden pushed opened a large gilded door at the end of an endless hallway, motioning Sola inside. She looked around with mild curiosity – which quickly morphed into amazement. The salon was roughly oblong in shape, and one entire wall seemed to be made of nothing but highly polished transparisteel, exposing the blue-green currents of the waterfall that was directly in front of them.  
Sola stared at the strange view with wide eyes; it was almost like being underwater. The bright morning sunlight was dimmed to a mellow blue glow by the flowing water, and the furniture arranged in the space by the transparisteel mimicked the aquatic feel of the room.  
"Her Majesty will be with you shortly," Keialé stated, and vanished behind another gilded door, leaving Sola completely alone.

Working hard to quell the butterflies fluttering madly in her stomach, Sola made her way to one of the padded chairs and sat down on the very edge of the plush cushion. As her gaze drifted about the salon, she remembered that Apailana was from a village near the coastal city of Kaadara, residing on a small peninsula surrounded by ocean. This salon must have been redesigned after Apailana's election as Queen to emulate the familiarity of her home.  
Sola was suddenly struck with the realization that this room must be the Queen's most private sanctuary inside the Palace. She did not know whether or not to take that as a good sign, but perhaps that was just her cynicism rearing its ugly head within her thoughts. Surely Apailana had _some_ news about Padmé if she had bid a handmaiden to lead Sola to this room for their meeting.

The double doors on the far side of the salon, directly in Sola's line of sight, slowly opened, revealing a pair of handmaidens wearing the same indigo cloaks that Keialé had on. Following after them was Queen Apailana herself, with two more handmaidens trailing behind.  
Sola instantly scrambled to her feet, curtseying deeply. She kept her head lowered respectfully, listening to the soft clicks as the doors were closed, the gentle swish of fabric on the carpeted floor – and then a poised, richly accented feminine voice said, "You may rise."  
Sola gracefully ascended from her bow, and found herself face to face with the ruler of her planet, who was no more than thirteen standard years old.

Apailana's round face was surprisingly childlike, dominated by a pair of wide, deep brown eyes that, despite her young age, communicated a well-developed intelligence. Blue-green highlights from the waterfall view traced the contours of the Queen's composed expression, and glittered upon the trio of shimmering sapphires that hung like teardrops on her forehead. An intricate headdress that seemed to be comprised of thin chains of silver and clusters of seashells wove around her elaborately styled dark hair. The gown Apailana wore consisted of several shades of blue, from deepest cobalt to pale turquoise, with a pleated undergown that shone iridescent in the light. From the scalloped edges of the sleeves to the overall flowing appearance of the fabric, the entire ensemble gave off the distinct impression that the sea itself had clothed the Queen.  
Apailana clasped her hands together, looking steadily up at Sola. Her powdered face revealed none of her thoughts as she stated, "Thank you for your patience, Milady Naberrie. I am afraid that you have come to the Palace at a rather stressful time. We have very little time before I must resume my other duties, but I hope that I can set your mind at ease. Please, sit."

As was protocol, Sola waited until the Queen was seated before sitting down – and as soon as she was settled, Apailana spoke again. "Since we are at the mercy of the clock, I think that we should dispense with pleasantries and address the heart of the issue immediately." She leaned forward just slightly, dark eyes studying Sola intently. "We both know that you are not here to speak with me about educational clauses."  
Sola blinked, taken aback, though she really should not have been surprised. Recovering, she replied quietly, "No, Your Majesty, I am not. The reason behind my request for this audience is far more personal in nature." Apailana nodded once, encouraging Sola to continue. Sola's blue eyes darted to the silent figures standing guard to the left and right of the Queen, uncertainty reflected on her features.  
Apailana took notice. "My handmaidens are privy to my most vital secrets, Milady; this conversation and all it pertains to will not leave this room."  
They stared at one another for a moment, unmoving save for the occasional lowering of eyelids, until Sola took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She replied carefully, considering each word before it left her mouth in a way that she had not since leaving the public service venue years ago, "My reason for meeting with you, Your Majesty, is the hope that you can tell me what has kept my entire family awake for many nights – the hope that you have any information on the disappearance of my sister."

Apailana's wide brown eyes slid sideways to the handmaiden on her immediate right. At this unspoken signal, the handmaiden turned in one fluid motion and walked towards a small table on the opposite side of the salon. Sola watched her in puzzlement, and then looked back at the Queen when she remarked, "The issue you speak of has weighed heavily on my thoughts as of late, as well. I am prepared to share with you all the information I have in regard to Senator Amidala's current whereabouts, but…" The young monarch's placid expression cracked just visibly, revealing a hint of sorrow. "I doubt whether it will be enough to grant your family a more restful night."  
The handmaiden returned, and at Apailana's gesture, handed Sola a small hand-held transceiver. "What you are about to see is privileged content, Milady Naberrie. I trust that you understand the severity of the galaxy's current circumstance." She waited until Sola nodded her agreement, and then resumed explaining, "This is the last message I received from Senator Amidala. It was sent shortly after the emergency Senate session during which Palpatine instated the Empire, so it is over a week old."  
She fell silent, and Sola thumbed a tiny button on the rear of the transceiver. The viewscreen flickered to life – and her sister's face appeared. A lump of emotion swelled inside the older sibling's throat. Padmé's heart-shaped, delicately featured face was pale and drawn, and her normally sparkling brown eyes were filled with profound grief. She looked positively heartbroken.

"Your Majesty," Padmé began, an overhead light source casting a brilliant sheen on the circular, wing-like headpiece sitting atop her coiffed dark hair, "What we have all greatly feared since this war started has finally come to pass. The Republic will be reorganized into the Galactic Empire, with Palpatine as Emperor for life."  
"How could this happen?" A voice, Apailana's, echoed more loudly than Padmé's.  
"We _let_ it happen, Your Majesty." Padmé looked out from the viewscreen sadly, and then a hard, mirthless half-smile tilted her mouth. "The Senators agreed. They _applauded_ him, Your Majesty – cheering as one man single-handedly destroyed freedom in our galaxy." She paused a moment, struggling to compose herself, and continued. "Palpatine also told the Senate that the war is over; the Separatists have surrendered. Peace is now a reality." Sola could easily hear the biting derision in her sister's tone as she said those words.  
"Then the GAR is to be disbanded?" Apailana asked – but from the resigned inflection of her question, she already knew the answer.  
"The clones are to act as a peacekeeping force in the Empire, to protect our citizens from any outside or internal threat."  
"And…the Jedi?"

Sola watched as Padmé's eyes flooded with tears. She had never seen her sister react so strongly to any news when she was in the political arena. "The Jedi have been declared enemies of the state and are to be apprehended on sight. Clone troopers have been granted the power to use lethal force if any member of the Order refuses to surrender. The Temple here on Coruscant has been burning since the early morning hours before dawn." A droplet of moisture trickled from the corner of her eye. "All the Jedi that were inside are dead, and others spread out across the galaxy have been killed as well."  
Queen Apailana remarked gravely, "This is a dark day, indeed."  
There was silence for a minute or so; Padmé used her forefinger to wipe away the tear from her cheek, her shoulders rising and falling with a shuddering breath. Apailana said, "Perhaps it would be best if you took a few days to recuperate, Senator Amidala; I know that you had friends among the Jedi. You have my deepest sympathies."  
The pale shadow of a smile crossed Padmé's lips. "Thank you, Your Majesty…but I would like instead, with your permission, to take the leave of absence that we spoke of at our last meeting. Immediately."  
"But, Senator – " Clearly, the Queen was stunned by her request. "Surely you are aware that at such a time as this, when the foundation of our system of government is so unstable, that Naboo needs a strong, wise representative like yourself in the Senate."

Padmé was quietly adamant. "I understand the gravity of the situation, Your Majesty. But I have served my people for half of my life – and now it is time for me to step aside, temporarily. Representative Binks and my staff are more than capable of seeing to Naboo's needs while you are selecting an interim delegate to serve in my absence." Her expression changed, becoming less professional, and fully displayed the sorrow and heartbreak she felt. "Please, Your Majesty…please do this for me."  
Apailana sighed. "Of course, Padmé – I cannot refuse the request of a woman with your history of so diligently serving our people. I only ask that you be careful: this is a dangerous time for someone like you. Wherever it is that you are going, please, for my sake, take a few security personnel with you."  
"I appreciate your concern, Your Majesty, and I will do all I can to honor it – but I have no need for more security where I am going. I swear to you: I will be perfectly safe."  
"Very well," Apailana conceded, but she did not sound entirely convinced. "I suppose I cannot persuade you to reconsider some of your terms in regard to our agreement?"  
Padmé smiled, a genuine smile that lit up her face, though her eyes remained dull. "I'm afraid not."  
"Then… I, Queen Apailana of the Naboo, hereby release you from your office as Galactic Senator at your request, and grant you a sanctioned leave of absence," Apailana enunciated each syllable firmly, recognizing that it was a formal, binding contract between her, ruler of Naboo, and a stalwart ambassador for her people. It could not be recanted.  
Padmé inclined her head. "I am deeply grateful, Your Majesty. Thank you."  
"Be well, Senator Amidala."  
And the screen turned black.

Sola's mind was spinning, trying to process what she had just learned. A leave of absence? For _Padmé?_ Not in a million years would she have guessed that her obsessively devoted little sister would request a leave of absence from her position in the Senate. Padmé constantly saw herself as the balance point between reason and madness within the circles of galactic politics; what could possibly have been her motivation for putting aside the duty that had defined most of her adult life? And why would she not tell their parents that she was taking some time off? They would be thrilled to have her home. Unless…  
Unless she did not want them to know.  
It was true that Padmé had become more distant and secretive since the war began, but most especially in the past five or six months. When she didn't come for a visit on National Peace Day, celebrating the end of the Trade Federation occupation and the amity between humans and Gungans on Naboo, both their mother and father had reached their limit.  
Jobal had transmitted a call to Padmé on Coruscant, only to be told by one of her handmaidens that she was currently "indisposed" and would return the call later. It had taken much negotiating on Padmé's part to cool their mother down after that incident. But they still did not see her except as a holo-image. It was almost like – like Padmé did not _want_ to be seen, like she was hiding something – but Sola did not have a clue what it was. What could be so dangerous that you had to hide it from your family?

She had to learn what she could about this so-called "agreement" between Apailana and her sister. "May I ask…what agreement were you and Padmé referring to?" Sola asked hesitantly.  
To her utter bemusement, Queen Apailana smiled. The expression made her look less like a queen and more like a thirteen-year old girl, and spoke of Apailana's genuine caring for Padmé. "Ah, yes…our agreement. I must say, it was one of the strangest negotiations I have had in all of my experiences in diplomacy – and it was quite interesting to see Senator Amidala put all of her skills into one conversation." She shifted a little in her seat, and sent another wordless signal – this time to the handmaiden on her left. Sola did not bother to follow the girl's movement, keeping her attention fixed on the Queen.  
"In summary, your sister came to the Palace about six months ago and asked to speak with me in private. She then proceeded to inform me that she would like to have a leave of absence, with conditions to be met on both our parts to guarantee Naboo's stability and her own peace of mind. On my part, I was asked to keep the knowledge of her leave-taking classified, not assign to her a security detail of any kind, and make no inquiries into her location. On her part, she would finish several critical orders of business before her departure, give me an excellent recommendation for an interim Senator, and leave an emergency channel open through her personal astromech droid if I had need of her." Apailana shook her head in mild amazement, the sapphire drops glittering on her forehead. "I admit the whole idea was highly unusual and a bit unorthodox – but Naboo owes a debt to Padmé Amidala that can never truly be repaid. In light of this, her terms were amenable to me, even though the time she requested caused me to have a moment of considerable alarm." She pierced Sola's gaze with her own. "She wanted no less than twenty-six weeks."

"Twenty-six _weeks?"_ Sola blurted out, unable to contain her shocked disbelief. That was over six months of time away from her chosen career, a career that she loved and took very seriously. _What in the world could have possessed Padmé to ask for –?  
_"I decided to grant her the time she requested, as well as an additional six months," Apailana interrupted Sola's stunned train of thought, watching the other woman's reaction carefully.  
The Queen was able to tell the moment her last words finally sank in. Sola blinked at her, baffled. "You gave her an entire _year_ off? And she _took it?"_ Staring at Apailana open-mouthed, she did not notice when the handmaiden returned carrying a silver tray laden with a glass carafe of plum wine and two goblets.  
"She was quite glad when I made the offer," Apailana replied with a nod, "and accepted immediately." The handmaiden handed her a goblet half-full of the rich wine, and she took a dainty sip. "I understand your astonishment; I myself was surprised by the Senator's consent to remove herself from the political arena for such a lengthy period. Although, I am a little concerned by your reaction; surely she told you and your parents that she was taking a leave of absence from the Senate?"  
"No…" Sola shook her head, gazing blankly at the space above the Queen's shoulder. "No, she didn't tell us anything."  
Apailana's powdered forehead crinkled just visibly, her dark eyes troubled. "Hmm…" She sipped at the goblet cradled elegantly in her small hands, and her facial expression smoothed back out into the cool, aloof porcelain mask associated with a Nubian Queen's persona. "Perhaps the Senator meant to surprise you and your family with the news of her break from the Senate," she suggested.

"Perhaps." Sola accepted a goblet from the handmaiden but did not drink, only gazed into the deep violet-colored liquid, studying her reflection on its dark surface. "Do you believe it is possible," Sola began slowly, speaking aloud more for her own benefit than for the Queen's, "that in light of all the stipulations Padmé required for your agreement…that she has simply vanished to escape the problems on Coruscant?" She looked up, her blue eyes pleading and morose. "Do you believe that she has since departed on her leave of absence and is unaware of the Emperor's accusation against Master Kenobi? Or, did the Jedi abduct her en-route and demanded that she take him with her for his own safety?"  
Apailana peered at Sola over the rim of her goblet, scrutinizing the older woman, debating over her reply. A few seconds ticked by – then Apailana set down her goblet on a small table beside her chair, and folded her hands together upon her lap. "The real question that you should ask, Milady Naberrie, is whose word do I trust more: Palpatine's, or Padmé's?" In the pause that followed, the Queen heard the Senator's sister inhale a sharp, quiet breath – along with two of her handmaidens. Apailana was conscious of the fact that such a bold statement could very well have her deposed from the throne, but it was a chance she was willing to take. Fear may keep the general populace of the galaxy in check, but change could be set in motion by one person who did not let fear control their actions.

"There are two plausible scenarios in my mind," she went on quietly, her tone deliberate and thoughtful. "One, that Senator Amidala left the capital in the utmost secrecy so as not to give away her location while she enjoys her leave of absence, and is therefore unaware or unable to receive current news feeds. And two: that Master Kenobi did indeed contact her, asking for safe passage – and as a friend, Padmé agreed to let him accompany her."  
"The Jedi would not have taken her as a captive," Sola agreed rapidly, the words erupting from her mouth as she leaned forward eagerly. "My mother and I agree on that point."  
"As do I," Apailana concurred. "Though at this critical time, it is prudent for us all that we carefully guard our opinions from the watchful eyes of those who do not share our beliefs." Sola nodded in understanding; basically, the Queen was warning her, as Darred had two days ago at her parent's home, to not speak out against the Empire or its fanatical leader. "In regard to your sister – I think it best that you and your family remain patient. When Senator Amidala is ready, or deems it safe to open communications, she will contact you. She always said that family was the only justifiable reason she could find for someone to lay aside their causes in order to preserve something that is irreplaceable."

A soft chord issued from somewhere to the right, and one of the handmaidens reached into the folds of her cloak, extracting a tiny comlink. She thumbed it on, listening for a moment, and then she leaned over Apailana, whispering in her ear. The exchange was lost on Sola; she was mulling over the Queen's last words, words that Padmé had spoken about the importance of family. For some reason that she could not name, the phrase buried itself inside Sola's mind –sparking a curious sensation at the edge of thought, like there was some connection between it and her sister's recent behavior…  
She jerked slightly when Apailana moved to stand. Sola scrambled upright, nearly upsetting her goblet in the process. The Queen appeared not to notice as she announced, "I regret that we must close our discussion; I have a most urgent appointment that cannot wait." With an unusual display of camaraderie for a royal representative, Queen Apailana approached Sola and took her hands, gazing up at her with a small smile. "I sincerely hope that your fears have been alleviated, Milady Naberrie. I pray that you will hear from your sister very soon."  
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Sola replied, "for your kindness and your time." She slid her hands from the Queen's and bowed once more.  
"Keialé will escort you to the Main Hall. Be well, Milady Naberrie." There was a swish of fabric as Apailana spun around gracefully and glided towards the door, handmaidens silently following – all but one.

Keialé stood motionless while the Queen departed the salon, waiting until the door was closed before addressing Sola. "Shall we go, Milady?" she asked softly.  
Sola followed the young handmaiden to the same door from which she had entered, and kept the girl's dark-cloaked form in sight as they traveled through the long Palace halls. Her thoughts were swirling like a whirlpool within her skull. She honestly did not know what to expect when she had requested to speak with the Queen – but clearly it had not been this. While she now had more questions than answers, and no other hints about her sister's disappearance, Sola knew that there were people in positions of leadership – on her own homeworld and around the galaxy – that were not sitting idly by and allowing the Empire to extinguish one thousand years of democracy. And that gave her hope.  
But she also realized, from the steady, throbbing ache in her chest, that she desperately wanted to talk to Padmé. She missed her little sister terribly – they all did. Sola only hoped that Padmé would find a way to send a message in time for Pooja's birthday; her youngest child would be absolutely crushed if her beloved Aunt Padmé forgot to wish her a happy birthday. _You have three days, Padmé, _she mentally cautioned. _Please don't forget. Please find a way to contact us._

She glanced to the side as she and Keialé passed by the Portrait Gallery, but did not stop, though her eyes immediately found the painting of her sister on the far wall until it vanished from view.  
She could still feel Padmé's painted, mysteriously soulful eyes on her, assuring her that everything would be all right and to not lose hope, all the way to the Palace's main gate.

--

Unbeknownst to Sola, another pair of eyes watched her depart the Palace – eyes that were very much alive and vigilant. From the far-reaching shadows of one colossal marble pillar, this pair of eyes flashed a steely-grey, like a lightning bolt illuminating a stormy sky as they observed the woman's exit.  
He knew that he was risking much by sneaking around this part of the Palace; his safety was at stake, as was the safety of his companions, the Queen of Naboo and her staff, and the people of Naboo… But he had wanted to see her. One of the others had heard that she was the older sister of Naboo's Senator, and that had been enough to ignite his curiosity.  
A flicker of insight skittered across his mind; it was time. He backed slowly away, into deeper shadows, and followed the path from which he had come, lost in thought.

--

It was an ear-splitting shriek of utter agony.  
The tiny body enveloped by the protective circle of his arms flinched in response, and he felt the sudden urge to take action – do something,_ anything,_ that would take away the pain from that piercing wail filling his eardrums.  
But Anakin remained rooted in place, watching with wide, anguished blue eyes as the needle swiftly extracted a vial full of crimson blood, its tip thrust into the soft ivory skin, now marred by its sharp, glittering barb. His arms tightened once more around the precious treasure tucked into his chest, wishing again for the hundredth time that he could spare them from this torture, that he had the power to shield them from the pain.  
The needle withdrew, but the wails continued unabated, coating the tense atmosphere of the room with dense layers of anger, betrayal, and pain. A low whimper issued from the small form he carried, and Anakin attempted to avert another disaster by gently rocking back and forth on his heels as a means of comfort. Judging from the way that the little limbs trapped in wrapped blankets began to thrash about, he was not having much success.

Then, a new voice entered the disharmony of the shrieking. It was soft, calm, and soothing. Like a warm breeze on a summer evening, the fragrance of wildflowers in a sunlit meadow – the voice sang out love and reassurance in a melody that wove around each of them with gentle warmth.  
The writhing motion against his arms slowly ceased, as did the endless screeching. The voice faded, its song drawing to a close, and Anakin released a huge gust of air from his previously constricted lungs.  
Padmé glanced up at him from her place beside the exam table, wearing that smile he had since dubbed the "Mom Smile." All she had to do was turn that soft, open expression on either of the twins and they became instantly calm and pliant, studying her with their incredibly perceptive eyes.

Luke and Leia were having their final check-up at the Polis Massa MedCenter before they departed for Naboo, and it was definitely a traumatic experience – for the twins, and for their father. Padmé had assured Anakin at the beginning of the exam that it was a necessary step in the twins' development, and that it had to continue no matter how much either of them screamed. Padmé had been able to keep their son relatively quiet throughout his examination, but Leia was another story. Anakin would swear that based on this event alone, it was obvious that their daughter had inherited his dislike of medical instruments, especially the ones that were sharp and pointy.  
"You may pick her up now, Milady," MD-02 said in its customary, unruffled feminine tone. Carrying the vial of Leia's blood, the med droid floated over to a small alcove in the left corner of the exam room, sliding the vial into a receptacle on the computer console.  
Padmé immediately swept Leia into her arms, cooing softly at the red-faced, grumbling infant. "There's my little girl…my brave little princess," she crooned, brushing the tears from their daughter's flushed cheeks. She cradled Leia against her shoulder so that the familiar, steady rhythm of her heartbeat would calm the distraught newborn. In a matter of moments, the youngest Skywalker had completely quieted, resting securely in her mother's embrace.

Watching the two women in his life from his spot against the opposite wall, Anakin deemed that it was safe to approach and crept forward cautiously, glancing down every so often at his son. Luke merely stared up at his father with large crystalline blue eyes, hardly even moving within the warm confines of his blankets.  
The new parents had determined only a day after the twins' birth that the Force, while it flowed powerfully in each child, it also had forged a strong connection between the twins – a connection that had grown even as they grew together within Padmé's womb. When Luke was restless, fretting in the crib or in Padmé's arms across the room, Leia became so as well. When Leia grew upset, even before she opened her tiny mouth to use her highly developed vocal chords, her brother seemed to sense it – and both infants would begin wailing almost simultaneously. Anakin and Padmé would have to check each twin for whatever had caused them to cry, and usually only one of them had a legitimate reason for demanding attention.  
Distance seemed to be the only factor that could weaken the link between Luke and Leia, but Anakin was convinced that it would not work forever. As the twins matured, their strength in the Force would increase exponentially, thus enhancing their emotional connection.

He slowly circled around the exam table to stand beside his wife. As he neared, Leia's small body twitched as she struggled to lift her head from Padmé's shoulder. Her mother shifted sideways so that she could see the male members of their family. "See? There's Luke and Daddy," Padmé murmured to the infant, pressing her lips lightly on the feather-soft brown locks. Leia settled back into the curve of her shoulder, apparently satisfied, and Padmé looked up at Anakin with sparkling dark eyes, a faint smile playing along the edges of her mouth. Besides having to physically accommodate the needs of two newborn babies, she was also experiencing a crash course in dealing with Force Sensitive children. She had expected that any offspring she and Anakin produced would have the potential to use the Force – but expectation and actuality were two very different circumstances.  
At least she had Ani to help. Even though he could no longer tap into the limitless power generated by all life, Anakin was able to interpret the outward signs when Luke or Leia were using their innate talent. It also helped immensely to have another pair of hands whenever both twins decided to make their needs known as loudly as possible.  
Yet more than anything else, he was there for the twins because he wanted to be a part of their lives – to form a place in their hearts that could never be occupied by anyone other than him.

"The blood analysis is complete," MD-02 announced from the alcove. Padmé turned and walked over, absently stroking Leia's back as the little girl babbled nonsensically into her shoulder. Anakin followed in silence, his eyes alert for the slightest change in his wife's gait. She had not been checked out yet by the med droids – and though she insisted to him, her fiery stare burning into his, that she was perfectly fine – Anakin refused to let his guard down until she was declared healthy. He stopped beside her, and she instinctively leaned into his muscular frame though her gaze was fixed on the console's viewscreen.  
Shifting Luke's tiny body into a firm, one-handed grip, Anakin wrapped his arm around her waist, his fingers gently caressing her side. With the one-week deadline to his departure looming on the horizon like a stalking beast, Anakin would not let any opportunity to touch his wife fall by the wayside.  
He quickly banished the thought from his mind before Padmé could pick up on the mournful currents flowing through the deep places in his heart. He had to tell her, and soon…but he did not want the news of his absence to ruin their time together on Naboo. He wanted to remember those few precious days with his new family with unfettered joy – to recall them in his loneliest moments and study them like unearthed gems, twinkling in a rainbow of brilliant colors.  
_Two days, _he told himself fervently. _I'll tell her two days after we land on Naboo._ Then he returned his attention to the med droid as MD-02 studied the readout on the viewscreen and stated, "The analysis indicates that Leia is a very healthy newborn baby. There are no visible genetic markers that point to any future potential diseases or developmental problems, all of her counts are in the normal range, same as her twin, and reflex and growth tests all indicate that she is progressing nicely."

Padmé's chest rose and fell in a quiet sigh of relief. While she truthfully had no doubts about Luke or Leia's health, it was a great comfort to see tangible confirmation that their little stars were well and safe.  
Glancing over the chart projected upon the viewscreen, she noticed one column that MD-02 had not addressed during its explanation. "What about this readout?" she asked, pointing at the screen.  
"That is the midichlorian test count."  
Padmé's eyes flew to Anakin's, widened by surprise. He gazed down at her with an indefinable expression, though she detected the barest hint of curiosity flickering in his bright blue irises. Her gaze flitted back to the med droid when MD-02 remarked, "Masters Yoda and Kenobi requested that the midichlorian count be permanently deleted from each infant's health chart as a precaution, should our data become compromised by a security breach." Anakin nodded in understanding; if the information was never entered into the system, then even the most skilled computer slicer in the galaxy could not trace any previously deleted data back to its original point of entry. "If you would like, Milady," MD-02 suggested, "I can verbally relay to you each twin's count for your personal records."  
Padmé shrugged her shoulder, the one pressed against his chest, and glanced up at him questioningly. He shrugged as well – Luke and Leia's midichlorian count did not really matter to him, he already knew that it would be incredibly high since they were his children. But he had to admit, even if it was just to himself, he _was_ a bit curious to see just how high those counts were.  
"It's up to you," he told Padmé softly, his low voice reverberating with sincerity. If she truly wished to know, then it was fine with him. If she did not – that was all right, too.

One shaped eyebrow arched slightly over a dark eye as she studied his face, and a faint grin curved her lips. She knew that he was interested in those counts, whether he would own up to it or not, and the slight smirk on her face informed him that she saw right through his feigned indifference. Still watching him with her unwavering stare, Padmé said, "I would like to hear their midichlorian counts, please."  
"One moment." MD-02 processed the information on the screen and then replied, "The midichlorian count for Leia Skywalker: twenty-thousand, fifty-two per cell."  
Anakin jerked, his expression awash in shocked disbelief. A count that high was extraordinary, unbelievable. Maybe he had just heard MD-02 wrong. He leaned forward, squinting slightly at the viewscreen, peering at the numbers displayed on the bottom of the chart. He blinked, and blinked again, almost certain that he was seeing things. _20,052_ – it was there, plain as day. Their three-day old daughter had a midichlorian count that exceeded any Jedi's, even Master Yoda's. Of course, Anakin's own count had blasted off the cap of the Jedi Temple's records when he was accepted for training fifteen years ago. The concentration of the microscopic life forms residing in his cells was so dense that the medical equipment had only given an estimation, which was approximately twenty-two to twenty-five thousand per cell.  
Obi-Wan's jaw had nearly hit the floor as he stood beside his ten-year old Padawan in the Temple's MedCenter, his eyes so large that they looked like blue-grey saucers, his stare darting from Anakin to the med droid and back again.

As MD-02 typed on the console's keypad, calling up Luke's health chart, Anakin glanced over at Padmé. His wife seemed perfectly at ease as she shifted their daughter to her other shoulder, humming a little when Leia groaned at being moved from her comfortable position. She did not act surprised at all over their youngest child's absurdly high midichlorian count – but perhaps she was keeping it inside so as not to alarm him or affect the twins.  
Focusing inwardly, Anakin touched the bond linking his soul to Padmé, traveling along the threads to catch a telltale flash of emotion that would hint at her true disposition. Strangely, all he could sense was a mixture of amusement and pride radiating like the gentle heat of a morning sunrise from her psyche. He was about to ask her – but the med droid stilled his tongue as it pronounced, "The midichlorian count for Luke Skywalker: twenty thousand, one hundred and twelve."  
Anakin looked at the screen, checking the numbers exactly as he had done with Leia – and as with her, it was there on the chart – _20,112._ Technically, because there was a difference of 60 between their counts, Luke was the stronger of the twins as far as Force Sensitivity. But the counts meant nothing in the long run, and the new father decided then and there that neither he or Padmé would tell the twins about their midichlorian counts; he did not want it to become a source of competition for Luke and Leia, and ultimately, how many midichlorians lived in their cells had no standing in what kind of Force user each of them would grow up to be.  
But it was clear to Anakin that with such skyrocketing counts, his children would need some instruction in the proper use of their powers – it would be too dangerous to leave such incredible strength untamed.

"Satisfied?" Padmé nudged him with her hip, smirking teasingly.  
Anakin withdrew from his musing about the future and glared mock-seriously at his wife. "You're the one who asked for the numbers; it didn't matter to me."  
She snorted. "I know you better than that, Ani. And I know that _you_ know that I know you better than that. You just didn't want to admit that you were curious about their counts."  
He ignored her, but she noticed the small grin he had failed to conceal as he brushed past her to stand directly behind MD-02, observing as the med droid skillfully deleted all traces of the twins' test results from the Polis Massa database after copying the information to a portable datapad for them to take to Naboo.  
"Here you are, Jedi Skywalker," MD-02 handed Anakin the datapad containing Luke and Leia's health charts and birth records. "When you take the twins to their next exam, this datapad will have the necessary information required by another MedCenter's medical personnel." Then, the med droid turned towards Padmé. "It is your turn now, Milady. Administrator Tuun is on his way to conduct your examination; your husband requested him as your physician earlier today."

Anakin bit his lower lip, barely resisting the urge to backhand the med droid as Padmé fixed him with a stern, admonishing glare. He managed to smile at her sheepishly, but when she just continued to glare, he quickly strode over to the floating bassinet that was used to transport the twins around the MedCenter and placed Luke inside. He kissed his son's forehead, whispering lovingly, "Good job, little Jedi." As he straightened, the exam room's door slid open, and Administrator Tuun entered.  
"How are you feeling today, Milady?" he inquired congenially.  
Padmé turned towards the approaching Polis Massan, smiling as she replied, "I'm very well." Her gaze flicked sidelong to her husband, and she added pointedly, "Thank you for asking."  
"I am pleased to hear that. If you would lay down on the exam table, we can get started." As Tuun began activating the body scan from the console, Padmé handed Leia over to Anakin and climbed onto the table, stretching out on her back. Anakin laid their daughter in the bassinet beside her brother, depositing a soft kiss on her forehead as well just as the lights dimmed within the room. Beams of blue light traced the contours of Padmé's body, creating a grid-like pattern from the crown of her head to the soles of her bare feet. The console beeped loudly and the grid vanished, the overhead lights flaring to full capacity. "Very good," Administrator Tuun said, typing swiftly on the keypad. "You may sit up now, Milady."  
Padmé pushed herself upright, wincing just a little as the muscles in her abdomen flexed painfully, but it was nowhere near as agonizing as it had been a few days ago. Anakin vacated his place next to the twins and was at her side in three strides of his powerful legs, his blue eyes locked on the Administrator as he took Padmé's hand, lacing their fingers together.

Tuun analyzed the scan results on the viewscreen in silence, the minutes passing, while Anakin fidgeted restlessly from foot to foot as he stood beside the exam table. Finally, the Administrator spun around, walking over to the young couple. "You are in excellent health, Milady." Anakin let out a noisy exhale of utter relief. Padmé threw an exasperated glance at him, but there was no real force of emotion behind the gesture. Maybe now he would stop worrying incessantly about her well-being. "Your body is recovering well from the exertion of labor," Tuun continued, "and the injury to your shoulder is completely healed. The bandage can be taken off by you or your husband whenever you choose." He slowly reached out and placed the pads of his long fingers on Padmé's diaphragm, massaging the area expertly. "The soreness in your muscles will continue to dissipate, and should vanish altogether in a few weeks." He withdrew his hands, black eyes glittering like shards of polished onyx. "My advice to you is to not do anything physically strenuous for several weeks, make sure that you consume foods that are part of a vitamin-rich diet, and have a physical examination in one month."

Anakin nodded vigorously. "I'll make sure of it," he declared with his usual single-minded fervor, even as Padmé started to voice her own agreement. He felt her bristle in agitation, and she squeezed his hand so hard that he swore he heard his bones creak under the pressure emanating from her deceptively small and fragile-looking hand.  
"I also must regretfully inform you both…" Tuun began, and Anakin's heart suddenly lurched upward, clogging his throat. Padmé's hand froze inside his, and she took in a deep breath, holding it in her lungs. "Due to the complications during the second twin's birth, there has been irreparable damage inflicted on your reproductive system. I am deeply sorry, Milady – but you will no longer be able to bear children."

Padmé slowly let out the breath she had been holding, expecting to feel the sharp pang of disappointment…but all she experienced was the calm upwelling of acceptance. She already had more than she could want in Anakin, and in Luke and Leia; her life was complete. However, since the early days of their marriage, Anakin had often told her that once the war was over and they no longer had to love one another in secret, he wanted a houseful of children – at least half a dozen, 'so no one will be left out', was his reasoning. Padmé had always assumed that, because his own childhood and lack of family life among the Order had bleached color and vibrancy from his life, he wanted their life together to be so explosive with emotion that it would cancel out those memories.

She felt his eyes on her face, wordlessly begging her to look at him – but she could not bring herself to meet his gaze and see the keen disappointment that she was certain was there. She would not be able to bear it. Instead, she asked the Administrator, "Is the damage more internal or external?"  
"Only internal, Milady. Your body is incapable of supporting a fetus to full term as a result of tearing and a build-up of scar tissue on the uteral wall. Your monthly courses will continue, but at a significantly lower rate. While you were unconscious, GH-7 repaired the tearing and performed an operation so that you have no future risk of becoming pregnant. Normally, we would have asked for your consent before such a procedure, but GH-7 felt that it was a necessary treatment."  
"I understand." Padmé's brown eyes drifted from Tuun's blank, oval face to the bassinet that held her little stars. They were so precious, and she loved them so fiercely with a love that rivaled the sheer potency of her love for Anakin – it just was translated in a different manner.

The shadow of his tall, broad-shouldered frame loomed closer, shielding one side of her face from the harsh white glare of the exam room's glow panels, and she could feel the steady warmth of his body so near her own. Chiding herself for being such a coward, Padmé nevertheless addressed another query to Administrator Tuun without once looking at her husband. "Will there be any risk of injury when Anakin and I are together – sexually?" she clarified, speaking as clinically as possible in the hopes of not blushing like an immature adolescent.  
"None," Tuun responded, and whether he was embarrassed – or was incapable of feeling that way – she could not tell. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to the other patients. Should you have further concerns or questions, please do not hesitate to inform me."  
"Thank you, Administrator," Padmé said sincerely, watching as the Polis Massan exited the room, the door closing behind him. She started to get down from the exam table – when two large hands suddenly grasped her upper arms, holding her in place, and the towering figure of her husband stood in front of her, blocking any chance of escape as solidly as a durasteel wall.  
"Padmé, look at me," his low, throaty voice commanded. "Please."

She carefully wiped all traces of her conflicting emotions from her expression and then raised her eyes. Anakin's handsome face was only inches from her own, his cerulean gaze burning with earnest intensity, and the ever-present gleam of undying devotion. "Padmé…" he said her name again, smiling at her sadly, and one of his palms came up to frame her cheek. "It doesn't matter to me that we can't have more children." She blinked, lips parting slightly in surprise. His smile tilted at her reaction. "You forget just how much I can sense what you're thinking through our bond. And I'm telling you right now, in no uncertain terms, that I do not care that Luke and Leia are our only children."  
"But you said –"  
He gently covered her mouth with his hand, silencing her protest. "I was only dreaming out loud. All that has ever mattered to me is that there was a place for me in your life. That was all I _ever_ wanted. I always thought that we would have children some day, but I guess that I never really expected it to happen." Anakin held her face in his hands, bending down so that he could meet her eyes, and murmured passionately, "I love Luke and Leia more than I ever thought possible, but you are my life. Even if we never were able to have a family, it wouldn't matter, so long as I had you."  
His heartfelt speech was an unexpected but welcome balm on Padmé's frayed nerves, and she leaned in for a kiss. Anakin obliged, his senses tingling deliciously as she melted into him, wrapping her slender arms around his neck. He lifted her off of the exam table without breaking their kiss, and set her on her feet.

She shivered and pulled away, looking at him with a sullen expression. "My feet are cold."  
He laughed, allowing her to slide from his embrace and slip on a pair of white hospital scuffs, and his boisterous chuckles caused one of the twins to let out a high-pitched squeal. Padmé shuffled over to the bassinet, trying to determine which twin had made the noise. "Oh, so you're laughing at me too, huh?" she growled, a wide grin lighting up her face. Stretching out her fingers, she tickled each infant's stomach, laughing with them when their chiming giggles burst out of their tiny mouths. Eventually, she straightened, placing her hands on the rim of the bassinet and guiding it towards the doorway. "Let's get back to our room; I think it's about time for dinner."  
Anakin preceded her and the twins, holding the door open so that they could pass, and the little family headed down the hall. Padmé could feel Anakin's hand resting lightly on the small of her back, and she was comforted by the familiar touch.

Quite abruptly, without any preamble whatsoever, he asked, "Why weren't you surprised by the twins' midichlorian counts?"  
"What?" she said around a handful of giggles.  
"Even_ I_ was surprised at how high their numbers were, but it didn't seem to faze you at all."  
She tossed him a coy smile. "That's because I know who their father is," she remarked blithely.  
He shot her a withering glance. "Smarty pants," he teased, and smacked her on the behind.  
When she only laughed at his antics, Anakin decided that his curiosity was not about to be deterred. "I'm serious, Padmé – I want to know why you weren't surprised. I tried to figure it out by sensing your emotions…but all I felt was this strange impression of pride, like you were glad that their counts were so uncommonly high."

She stopped, her cheeks flushing. Anakin skidded to a halt beside her, waiting for a reply.  
Padmé angled her body sideways so that she could see his face, his blue eyes lighting up with interest as he took in the blush staining her creamy skin. "I was proud that their counts were so high," she said softly, "because those numbers were just one more indisputable piece of evidence that you and I created these children with our love, and we no longer have to hide that fact anymore."  
Anakin simply stared at her, time and MedCenter personnel passing by unnoticed. Thinking of only one way to respond to such a meaningful, honest answer, he pulled her flush against him, without a care for their surroundings or propriety, and kissed her soundly.  
He had no idea how long they stood there, locked in a physical demonstration of their love for each other – and a small part of his brain wondered how many Polis Massans and med droids were traveling through this hallway, casual observers to their display. He realized that the thought caused a frisson of glee to ignite every cell in his body. For over four years he had pretended that Padmé was only a friend, that he did not love her with all that he was, and that he had not pledged himself to her as her husband. But here, now, he was free to declare to everyone on this entire asteroid that she was his wife, that they loved one another with a passion that took his breath away – and he wanted to take full advantage of the situation.

The quiet, unmistakable sound of a clearing throat filtered to his ears, accompanied by a barely stifled snicker that was distinctly feminine. Anakin reluctantly broke away from Padmé, laying a brief kiss on the tip of her nose before loosening his arms, and his heartbeat skittered when she whispered, "I love you," as she put a more publicly acceptable distance between them.  
Their audience was a middle-aged man clad in freshly laundered Jedi robes, one eyebrow raised dubiously as he studied the young couple with twinkling blue-grey orbs – and a dark-haired woman with wide, almond-shaped eyes and a wickedly mischievous grin curving her full lips.  
"I guess the honeymoon's not over after all," Sabé commented, placing her hands on her hips.  
Padmé's eyes widened in horror, the expression on her face a combination of embarrassment and fury. Seeming to sense that she was about to get a severe tongue-lashing, Sabé gestured towards her friend with a hand, remarking nonchalantly, "I see that you ditched the hoverchair."  
"Finally," Padmé concurred, rolling her brown eyes dramatically. "If I never have to sit in one of those ridiculous things again, it will still be too soon."  
Sabé cupped a hand around the side of her mouth and leaned towards Padmé, muttering to her conspiratorially, "We could take one up in the _Aiwha_, dump it out the airlock, and you can shoot it with the turbolaser turret."

Obi-Wan disguised a chuckle by coughing loudly. Anakin merely shook his head, grinning as he watched the playful interaction between his wife and her old friend. Padmé tilted her head to the side, pretending to think it over. At length, she replied, "Tempting…but I think I'll pass. I would not want to waste perfectly good energy beams on the disposal of such a diabolical piece of equipment."  
Sabé snickered at this, and then Padmé asked, "Ani and I were about to have something to eat. Would you care to join us?"  
"We just finished our meal in the dining commons," Sabé answered, throwing an impish grin over her shoulder. "I learned that Obi-Wan has a strong aversion to hoi broth."  
"Probably due to the fact that he is deathly allergic to it," Anakin stated, glancing at his former Master as well.  
Obi-Wan was glaring sternly at Padmé's decoy, but there was humor lingering deep inside his storm-colored eyes. "Having a bowl of that ghastly substance thrust into my face is _not_ an experience I would care to repeat. I felt ill just from the smell alone."  
"But Obi-Wan –" Sabé arranged her lovely features into a wide-eyed expression of childlike innocence. "I wouldn't let you die from a food allergy. We're in a MedCenter, after all."

The four adults exploded with laughter, the merry sound echoing through the hallway, and both twins reacted by adding their own squeals to the tumult. Calming somewhat, but with a wide smile still decorating her face, Sabé said, "Before you eat, Padmé – do you think you could spare Anakin for a few minutes? I'd like to take him down to the hangar bay and show him how to take _very_ good care of my ship." Her gaze shifted from one Skywalker to the other as she spoke, and fixed her sharp brown eyes on Anakin expectantly.  
He met her stare, unperturbed, and shrugged slightly. "It's all right with me," he replied, and then glanced over at his wife.  
She nodded at him with a small smile. "Go ahead. I'll wait for you."

His blue eyes softened, holding her gaze with quiet adoration. Despite the fact that they had spectators – and one of them was a Jedi Master – Anakin lowered his tousled blond head and gave his wife a brief, tender kiss, pulling away before Obi-Wan became exasperated or Sabé flung out another clever jibe.  
"I'll walk with you," the Jedi Master volunteered to Padmé, stepping over to the far side of the twin's bassinet. Then he turned and bowed politely, addressing Sabé with his usual formal demeanor. "Thank you for your time and company, Sabé; it was very gracious of you to share your personal experiences with me."

She smiled, and it was a smile he had not seen before on her now-familiar face. Her full lips were bowed into a perfect curve, with the barest shadow of dimples showing on each cheek, and her almond-shaped eyes glittered with genuine affection. The feeling was intensified by her essence in the Force; Obi-Wan sensed warmth and companionship as he brushed against her signature – which he found odd, since they were scarcely more than acquaintances.  
Though he had sought to fortify his Jedi-trained emotional control all throughout the meal he had shared with Sabé, the remnant of whatever had overwhelmed him during that brief instant in the conference room began to tug at his heart – reeling him in, wordlessly urging him to release his unyielding grasp on self-control.

Obi-Wan spun away abruptly, his perception curling inward defensively. Whatever this strange sensation was, whatever was causing it – he had to ignore it at all costs. He could not afford to lose his mental grounding at this critical junction in time. If that meant that he had to avoid prolonged contact with Sabé, who was swiftly becoming a friend, then so be it. _A Jedi's life is sacrifice, _he recited silently.  
He offered a faint smile to Padmé, inquiring as he motioned down the hallway, "Shall we?"  
"Of course," she agreed cordially, but the brief, puzzled look she gave Anakin as she began pushing the bassinet ahead of her was not lost on the Jedi Master. Obi-Wan fell into step beside Padmé, wondering if – or more appropriately, when – she would mention the incident…and what he was going to say in terms of a response.  
Anakin watched their progress down the hallway for a moment, all the while struggling to interpret his best friend's odd behavior towards Sabé, when it seemed like they were getting along quite well. In those few seconds after thanking Sabé, over a dozen expressions had flitted over Obi-Wan's face, altering as swiftly as a breeze changing direction on a mountaintop.

Padmé had looked at him for an explanation as she walked away, but he did not have one to give.  
He chanced a quick glance at the woman standing nearby, thinking that perhaps she had some idea about what appeared to be affecting Obi-Wan so strongly. But Sabé had donned that maddening facial expression that Anakin absolutely despised to see on his wife's face – that impassively polite, aloof politician look.  
She must have felt his eyes on her, for she turned her head to peer at him with mild interest, and the mask morphed into a lopsided grin. Then, without further ado, she pirouetted on one heel and marched purposefully down the adjacent hallway, calling out, "Let's go, Hero."

Anakin stood there for a heartbeat, dumbfounded. He looked down the corridor at Padmé and Obi-Wan, and she glanced at him as they rounded the corner at the far end. He waved at her, slightly bewildered, and then jogged off after Sabé, considering in his mind whether to feel admiring of the decoy's assertive mannerisms, or offended that she presumed to order him around like a government flunky.  
Either way, he would get to fly that ship.  
It was a win-win situation.


	26. Kaleidoscope: Tourmaline

**Chapter Twenty-One  
**_**Kaleidoscope: Tourmaline**_

Intuition had a peculiar way of ambushing one's thoughts. Like a slow-burning fuse, it would weave around the brain, igniting certain observations and past actions until, inevitably, it would reach the central core of one's mind and explode with such energy that it could not be ignored.  
Padmé smiled fondly as Anakin waved at her and then dashed off with Sabé, but it did not take long for that undeniable twinge of insight to prod at her train of thought, steering it towards the Jedi Master strolling calmly beside her down the MedCenter corridor. His attention was resting comfortably on the two infants lying within the bassinet, though it drifted occasionally as he scanned the hallway and any passing Polis Massan medical personnel.

Padmé decided to open up a conversation with a relatively safe, unassuming topic – convinced that during the course of their dialogue, her burst of intuition would be sated. Keeping her eyes on the corridor stretching out before them, she asked with genuine caring, "How are you feeling, Obi-Wan?"  
He glanced sideways at her, a slight smile brightening his bearded face. "If you are referring to my injuries, I am happy to report that I am still in one piece." Padmé chuckled softly, and he continued, "As to my connection with the Force, it is rather like tuning a transmitter to the proper frequency: sometimes I am able to feel it strongly, and other times it seems to elude my grasp."  
"But it is getting better?" she questioned, needing clarification.  
Obi-Wan's smile broadened. "Yes," he said, "it is getting better."

She nodded, counting several heartbeats in her head before broaching a new, but still related, subject. "Did Sabé set your mind at ease with tales of her adventures?" she inquired, her tone light and teasing, "Or are you beginning to doubt her sanity?"  
"A little of both, I think," he admitted, running a hand through his sand-blonde hair in a gesture that mirrored Anakin's habitual mannerism. "Her 'tales', as you call them, were very informative. I suspect that she will fill your place on Coruscant quite well; she is indeed the best choice as your decoy."  
Padmé detected a faint inflection in the Jedi Master's cultured voice that seemed out of place in his normally placid phrasing – and intuition tickled across her tongue as her mouth formed the words, "You are worried for her."  
Obi-Wan glanced at her sharply, traces of surprise flickering within his blue-grey eyes. He was suddenly and vividly reminded of the morning he had paid her a visit – almost five or six days ago now – and she had made another amazingly intuitive observation.  
"_You should be a Jedi, Padmé."_

He had only been half-teasing in that remark. Padmé was one of the very few individuals that Obi-Wan seemed unable to predict; the one topping that list was, of course, her husband. She was remarkably adept at reading into a person's words and behavior, picking out silent clues as to their true motivations and addressing them directly rather than letting the natural flow of conversation carry them along.  
But he had not been expecting her to read _him_ so effortlessly.  
He considered denying it; a Jedi is supposed to trust in the Force, and not allow selfish emotions to clutter the mind – but a heartbeat later he realized that besides being a futile effort, he had no desire to refute what he was feeling. Perhaps that had been his failing as a Jedi – ignoring his feelings because he had been taught to mentally dwell on a higher plane, to look upon situations without the mire of chaos swirling around him. All such teaching had done was to condition the Jedi to remain insulated from the rest of the universe.  
And it had made them vulnerable.

"Yes," he answered Padmé, and though it was a simple enough reply, a shiver of unknown origin tingled along his spine. "I worry for Sabé because she is brash and headstrong, reckless to the verge of insanity, and tremendously skilled as a fighter and a diplomat." Obi-Wan cocked his head to the side, his shoulders rising and falling with a heavy sigh. "In many ways, she reminds me of Anakin. And that, too, is part of my reason for worrying."  
Padmé nodded once, her expression open and friendly, but her dark eyes had grown ambiguous, veiled so as to soften the emotions that were visible within the velvety brown irises. "It means a great deal to her that you – and Anakin and I – are confident in her ability to keep Palpatine occupied on Coruscant."  
"And I _am_ confident," Obi-Wan insisted. "But I also –" he cut off, flailing his arms at his sides helplessly. "I am sorry, Padmé. I am having a difficult time centering myself as of late." He offered her a rueful grin. "It seems to be affecting my thought processes, as well."  
"You do seem a little out of sorts," she remarked gently, looking over at him with sympathy.

He rubbed his forehead as though staving off a headache, and blinked several times, clearing his vision. "I am tired," Obi-Wan admitted quietly, "and I am tired of _being_ tired, if that makes any sense."  
Her small hand came up and lay softly on his arm, just below his shoulder. He reached over and covered it with his own, smiling at her half-heartedly. "I need some time to meditate – center my thoughts. In fact, I believe I will do just that after I see you and the twins to your room."  
Padmé squeezed his arm slightly, wordlessly assuring him that she understood, and then lowered her hand.  
They continued on the rest of the way in companionable silence, neither sensing any need to breach the quiet, and Padmé pondered deep inside her heart what was the _other_ part of Obi-Wan's reason for worrying about Sabé. She did not want to play matchmaker, though Ani had jokingly commented that she would be very good at it, but one would have to be blind to not see the first flickering embers of attraction sparking between her old friend and her husband's mentor.

But true to form, Obi-Wan was either ignoring it, or was ignorant of it – Anakin was certain that it was the latter – and Sabé was far too honorable and focused to even contemplate the possibility of a romantic relationship with any Jedi, let alone a familiar face like Obi-Wan Kenobi.  
Of course, Padmé herself would never have considered a relationship with Anakin, even after he reentered her life fourteen years ago…and no one – not her sister Sola, or Anakin, for that matter – could convince her otherwise. Not until she had been forced, during a life or death situation, to face her own feelings.  
Maybe that was all Obi-Wan and Sabé needed: the opportunity to face their feelings for one another, and to see the potential for them to become something more. And that was an opportunity that neither she nor Anakin could give; that was only through the will of the Force.

* * *

"…and this section of the hull has been layered with _Capital_-class plating because the aft is exposed during evasive maneuvers and shielding is minimal in this area. But be aware that even though it's tougher than standard hull plating, it won't take more than four or five direct hits from a military craft's turbolaser."  
Anakin kept telling himself to be patient, to think about how he would react if someone else were taking his ship for a potentially hazardous jaunt across the Outer Rim…but patience was a virtue in everyone else's book but his.  
He and Sabé had circled the _Aiwha_ for nearly half an hour, and they had yet to actually go inside the cockpit so he could look over the controls. If she continued at this pace, they would be at this all night. Sabé seemed oblivious to his growing agitation; she pointed out every single outer modification from reinforced hull plating to the concealed ion cannon underneath the port curve – and he had to admit that he was impressed by her knowledge of starship design and weaponry.  
But even that was not enough to deter his mounting frustration.

"Let's head to the cockpit and I can show you the control panel layout," she remarked almost as an afterthought as she finished relaying how many microseconds passed between the mounted turret's rapid-firing sequence.  
Anakin practically sprinted up the ramp, making his own way to the cockpit and plopping down eagerly into the pilot's chair. He began studying the panel with the same wide-eyed curiosity he had displayed as a bright young boy, pestering the Queen's pilot Ric Olié with constant questions about flying the Royal Starship.  
He placed his hands on the helm controls, experimentally turning the levers governing pitch and yaw, and tried to get a 'feel' for the ship in a more conventional manner than he was used to. At any other time, Anakin would have reached into the Force and applied his unique talent for understanding machinery to learn how to operate the _Aiwha_. Now he had to rely on the regular senses, and Sabé's instruction, to gain enough information in order to transport his family across space safely.

As his fingertips danced atop the control panel, pretending to fly one-handed while powering up the shields – which he believed to be on the right side – Sabé ambled into the cockpit, halting directly behind Anakin's seated form. "The control panel's pretty standard for a Corellian-manufactured vessel," she said, resuming her tutorial, "so that should be no problem for you." He watched her slim hand reach over and touch a bronze-colored section of the panel, towards the center of the console. "Weapons control is here –" she moved to touch a flip-switch just above the helm controls "– and shields are here. The switch above your head powers up the EMP Shroud. Now, the _Aiwha_ is a _Scout_-class vessel, but her turns are a bit more sluggish than the starfighters you're used to flying. She gets a little jittery if you do a reversal while traveling at top speed, which is normally 1200 kilometers, but she's been juiced up to go about 1400. She can't hold that for long though, especially if you're funneling power to weapons and shields."  
Anakin took in a deep, slow breath, commanding his tense jaw to unclench. Sabé continued speaking, pointing at the readout viewscreen, "The controls are more responsive to maneuvering the faster you're going. It only takes a little bit to make her barrel-roll or yaw too far on one side."

She was talking to him about flying like he was a juvenile novice. Anakin's hands tightened noticeably on the controls while he silently repeated to himself that he could not take any of his prior experience in piloting for granted now that he was cut off from the Force. Sabé was only trying to help – and ensure that her ship would not end up in a scrap heap by the time it was returned to her.  
"Acceleration can be tricky, too," she said, blocking his line of sight as she leaned over him to depress several buttons in the left corner of the console. "Give her too much, and she'll overshoot. Too little, and she won't make it. And the –"  
Anakin could take it no more. "I _do_ know how to fly a ship, Sabé," he finally exclaimed in irritated annoyance, blue eyes flashing like shards of ice.

Sabé paused for a split second, and straightened, looking down at him with an unreadable expression. Then she leaned back against the panel and crossed her arms over her chest, dark eyes narrowing as she stared him down. "Not a ship like this," she retorted bluntly. "This one has got so many modifications on her that she's practically a living entity. She'll do whatever you need her to, but don't run her ragged. I _know_ how you fly, Skywalker," she talked loudly over his protest, jabbing a finger into his face. "You're the best pilot I've ever seen, maybe even the best in the galaxy – but you fly hard and fast, pushing the limits of any craft under your control. Now," she patted the nearest bulkhead with her hand, her sharp stare never leaving his, "she has all the speed and power you could ask for, but you don't know her yet – you don't know how she'll react in every situation. All I'm saying is that you need to be careful." She took a breath and her stare intensified, transforming her face into a mirror image of Padmé's most intimidating glare. "And I better get her back without so much as a smudge of dirt on her hull – got it?"

"Got it," Anakin replied, looking surly and amused at the same time. He transferred his gaze to the weapons panel, tempted to ask which switch activated which weapon but not wanting to appear ignorant, so he merely let his hands rest on the console, memorizing the layout by touch alone.  
Sabé unfolded her arms and went to the right side of the cockpit, opening a service port and studying a tangle of brightly colored wires with critical eyes.  
The strain in the atmosphere was palpable; Anakin drummed his mind incessantly for a solution to alleviate the tension – and an idea came to him with an electrified crackle of insight.  
Swiveling the pilot's chair around, he smirked at Sabé's turned back and asked mischievously, "So…did you give Obi-Wan a hard time?"

Sabé glanced at him over her shoulder, her almond-shaped eyes calculating – measuring him in the silent way that was characteristic of a Royal handmaiden – and the hard set of her features thawed.  
Tucking a hydrospanner into a utility pocket on her spacer's jacket, she dropped into the copilot's chair sideways, throwing a leg over the armrest, and crossed her arms loosely above her stomach. "More like the other way around," she replied dryly. "I'm not sure what to expect from him. Even though he's a Jedi, some of his reactions were strangely out of place – and others seemed exactly how a Jedi should react to new, if somewhat controversial, information." She looked absently out of the cockpit viewport, her gaze distant. "For some reason, I feel like he doesn't trust anything – like he's so uncertain of the universe around him."  
Anakin studied her profile, tinged crimson and gold from the control panel's lights, and felt the all-too-familiar stab of guilty remorse.  
Obi-Wan's entire universe had been shaken from its foundations, turned upside down, and then left him with no equilibrium whatsoever. His best friend was coping, as only a skilled Jedi Master could, but he was nowhere near as calm and focused as the man who had bid him farewell on the Temple's landing pad a week ago. Obi-Wan had lost his home, his family, his friends and his tranquil state of mind in one fell swoop. Unlike Anakin, the Jedi Master had only one grounding for his sanity amidst such black chaos: the Force. The connection was slowly returning to him – and for that, Anakin was supremely grateful – but he was not certain that Obi-Wan _should_ go back to the man he was before Order 66.

He and Padmé had agreed that Obi-Wan shared a connection with Sabé, a connection that seemed invisible to both parties involved. There was nothing that Anakin could wish for more for his brother than for him to share his life with the woman he loved, and who loved him in return.  
Padmé had sternly reminded him that there was a long way to travel before Sabé or Obi-Wan could claim to _love_ one another…but the possibility was there, taking root deep within the soils of their hearts.  
Anakin did not want the dogma of the Jedi Order, instilled in Obi-Wan's brain since infancy, to choke off that possibility before it had time to bloom. For Obi-Wan was far too disciplined and steadfast in his beliefs to ever openly challenge the tenets of the Code. After all, how many times had his former Master drilled those phrases into his skull, encouraging him to willingly give up his personal hopes and dreams?  
"_Attachment is forbidden."  
_He felt a slight pressure on the back of his mind – a gentle, light touch that was reminiscent of Padmé laying her palm on his chest, wordlessly consoling the heart that was hers for all time – and he withdrew from his bleak thoughts, focusing on the present moment. His angel was learning to convey through their bond the loving calm that seemed to be able to reach him even in his blackest of moods, and it only served to remind Anakin of the most defining truth of his existence: he was hopelessly lost without Padmé.

He gazed across the cockpit at Sabé, her profile and expression so utterly different from his wife in a way that he had never noticed in the past, and framed a quiet explanation. "Obi-Wan has had a lot to deal with in the past few days. It will take him a while to regain his sense of balance mentally and emotionally. But I want you to know, Sabé, that he does trust you; it's his own perceptions that he doesn't trust."  
She looked at him sidelong, her thick, radiation-streaked braid draped over one shoulder, and nodded slowly. Her face was impossible for him to read. "I understand that; the whole galaxy has had a lot to deal with in the last three and a half _years, _let alone this past week. It's just –" She shook her head, shrugging helplessly. "I get the feeling that Obi-Wan thinks he should be doing something – something that will help the galaxy recover, that will prove to him that he is still a Jedi." Sabé huffed petulantly and stared back out of the viewport, though there was nothing to see other than the shadowed metallic walls of the hangar bay. "It's like some kind of complex that all Jedi have bred into them: 'wave around a lightsaber and save the galaxy'," she announced in a ridiculous imitation of a deep, booming voice. "Like the very fabric of the universe will unravel if there's not at least one Jedi fighting for the welfare of the common being," Sabé snorted to herself in disbelief. "That's what it is!" she cried out suddenly, sitting up and shaking her finger at him triumphantly, "It's a Jedi complex!"

Laughter erupted from his lungs – loud, boisterous peals of mirth that left him gasping for air. Sabé glared at him mock-seriously, still shaking her finger. "You can laugh," she called out above the din of his cackling, "but I know that I'm right about this!"  
Anakin's hysterics faded into low chuckles, and he smiled broadly at Sabé. "You may be right," he conceded. "Maybe the Jedi _do_ see themselves as the saviors of the galaxy. But trust me," he promised, blue eyes twinkling, "once Obi-Wan starts putting that 'Jedi complex' into service, the galaxy won't know what hit it."  
They shared an easy smile, and Sabé once more threw herself wholeheartedly into the task of informing Anakin about every nuance of the _Aiwha_, ignoring his increasing number of groans as she kept up a continuous narrative while they toured the ship.  
Eventually, his rumbling stomach became too much to bear. "Can we _please_ wrap this up?" Anakin pleaded, one hand over his abdomen as if experiencing acute physical pain. "I already promised that she'd come back without even a smudge of dirt – isn't that enough?"

"I just want to make sure that I covered everything," Sabé replied offhandedly, and then glanced at the small chronometer strapped to her wrist. She cringed, muttering, "Padmé has got to be wondering what in the three moons happened to you. I didn't realize how late – and I have some things to do –"  
"So we're done?" he asked gleefully, lighting up like a child at the end of a school day.  
As soon as Sabé began to nod her head in the affirmative, Anakin bolted for the boarding ramp, a wide grin nearly splitting his face. "Wait!" she yelled after him. "I need to get inside the skiff and look through Padmé's wardrobe!"  
"It's open!" he shouted back, pounding footsteps echoing through the hangar bay as he ran towards the turbolift. "I'll see you in the morning, Sabé!"  
Rolling her eyes, Sabé made her way to the _Aiwha's_ ramp, shaking her head with mild amusement. "Never a dull moment with that one."

* * *

The morning, as always, came too soon for Anakin.  
After returning to their room and wolfing down a large and surprisingly decent meal, he and Padmé were able to enjoy a peaceful evening together, conversing quietly as the twins slept in their crib. Then, tucked comfortably in each other's arms, they had drifted off into dreamless slumber, wearing identical smiles of absolute contentment.  
The next thing Anakin knew, Padmé was murmuring softly in his ear that it was time to get up, and one of the twins was moaning distantly in the background. He felt the mattress shift as Padmé climbed to her feet, and a sudden blaze of bright light caused him to groan and bury his face in his pillow.

"Good morning," he heard his wife greet Luke and Leia in a loving tone that caressed the silence like a strain of music. Fabric rustled quietly, and the moans faded – then the bed jostled slightly as Padmé resettled herself beside him. Anakin was half-tempted to roll over, try and catch a few more minutes of uninterrupted sleep, but he could not bring himself to turn away from her. He barely opened his eyes, peering at her through the blurred line of eyelashes, and saw the infant at her breast – Luke, judging by the sheen of fine blonde hairs covering his head – watching her with rapt interest. Padmé was speaking to him tenderly, tracing the silky skin on his cheeks with her fingertips. "We're going home today, Luke – home to Naboo. You're going to love it there – you and Leia, I promise. You have a beautiful room waiting for you. It has a great big window, and you can see the sun rise over the mountains, and feel the breeze from the lake." She leaned down and kissed his forehead, her own excitement and joy sparkling in her heart like tiny explosions of light, and began traveling to Anakin via their bond.

He lifted a hand, groggily rubbing at his eyes, and propped himself up on an elbow while Padmé continued her soft description to their son. "There are lots of toys at home for you and your sister, and lots of space to run around and play. Your Daddy and I will take you both swimming as soon as it's warm enough. You'll love the water – just like your Daddy."  
Anakin smiled crookedly and slid across the bed, inching closer until he could lay his head on Padmé's thigh, curling lazily around her lower body. "I like that plan," he muttered into the folds of her nightgown, and sighed when she threaded her free hand into his sleep-tousled locks. She did not reply, but he felt her smile warm the lessening boundary between their souls.  
She heard his breathing even out, deepening, and continued to absently finger his burnished gold hair as she prompted, "Ani… Ani, you need to get up."  
"Mmm," was his muffled reply.  
"I need your help with dressing the twins," she said persuasively, and tugged lightly on a handful of tangled curls. He only tightened his arms around her legs, nuzzling into her thigh, his shoulders lifting with a deep breath. Smirking playfully, Padmé tugged again on his hair – this time with considerable force.

His muscular body jerked against hers. "Ow," he complained, still sounding half-asleep.  
"Get up," she urged, nudging him with her hip. Luke pulled away from her, apparently full, and Padmé wiped the corners of his mouth with a soft cloth. At almost that precise instant, Leia announced her hunger with a full-blown howl – a howl that was weakly echoed by her father. Padmé laughed, still tending to Luke, and said, "You're as bad as the twins. Finish cleaning up your son or go get Leia."  
"All right, all right…" Pushing himself into a sitting position, his eyes watering from the sharp glare of the overhead lights, Anakin opened his arms to receive Luke. Once he was deposited securely in his father's hold, Padmé went over to the crib and collected Leia, whose tiny face was now flushed a deep crimson with outrage at being ignored for so long. She quieted soon enough, and Anakin set aside the cloth he had used to finish cleaning Luke's face, the boy's bright blue eyes watching him intently. He could not help the grin that pulled one side of his mouth upward as he gazed into that perfect little face, and with a flash he remembered what Padmé had told him to do with Leia after she had eaten last time.

Feeling supremely proud of his burgeoning skills in parenting, Anakin placed his son against his shoulder and started rubbing his back while jiggling up and down a bit in his seat. After a few seconds, Luke burped ever so softly, his small body relaxing, and Anakin turned his head to whisper in his ear, "There you go… all better." Then he looked at his wife, beaming ecstatically.  
Padmé's lips curved, dark eyes twinkling. "Very good." The door chimed – a bright, cheery sound that seemed to mimic her mood – and she murmured, "That must be Threepio. I sent him to collect some clothing for us from the skiff, and to find out where Artoo was heading in such a hurry earlier."  
Anakin's brow puckered in confusion. "When did all this happen?"  
"The universe doesn't stop while you're sleeping, Ani," Padmé teased with a grin. While he glowered at her with mock-severity, Padmé looked over his shoulder at the closed entryway and called, "Come in."

The door opened with a soft hiss of air, and sure enough, Threepio's gleaming golden form toddled inside, a sizeable pile of garments draped across his arms. "Good morning, Miss Padmé – Master Anakin!" he greeted with his customary exuberance, and then added, "And good morning to you, Master Luke and Miss Leia!" The protocol droid's shuffling footsteps carried him towards the room's only chair, preparing to set his load down…until he realized that it was too small to accommodate the stack of fabric. "Oh dear."  
"Here, Threepio:" Anakin clambered to his feet, Luke cradled snugly against his bare chest, and directed, "Why don't you lay the clothing here on the bed so Padmé can look through it?"  
"Very well, sir." Threepio promptly lowered the massive armload of clothing atop the mattress, muttering something about straining his circuits, and Anakin turned his head to hide a smile. Despite all the trouble and occasionally annoying nuances that defined the droid, he did not regret the long hours spent tinkering to give Threepio what passed as a personality.  
"Shall I bring up a tray for breakfast, Miss Padmé?" Threepio asked as he finished organizing the assortment of garments into three separate piles.

Padmé smiled at him warmly. "Thank you, Threepio, that would be wonderful. And did you happen to find Artoo?"  
"He was in the hangar bay, my lady, with Master Kenobi. According to him, Master Kenobi summoned him there to assist with some programming very early this morning, before Master Yoda left. He seemed quite _smug_ at being needed; I told him –"  
"Yoda's gone?"  
Both Threepio and Padmé glanced at Anakin, puzzled by his reaction. Padmé was having a hard time dissecting her husband's expression; it seemed to be comprised of equal parts dismay, relief, hope and sheer panic. His blue eyes flicked to hers, and when he realized that she was studying him, the cerulean irises grew shuttered and blank, hiding his emotions. More determined now than ever to discover what was going on inside his head, Padmé touched the invisible cord tethering his soul to hers – a feat that became easier each day – and followed it towards the opposite end.

She hit a wall, projected mentally by Anakin to prevent her from consciously drawing closer to his thoughts. She pressed against it, concentrating, but could not breach it. She tried going around, but it seemed as though he had constructed a durasteel dome around the inner workings of his heart, allowing her access only to surface feelings and the echoes of her own emotions as they bounced back to him through their bond.  
Her frustration grew, flavoring their connection with a bitter tang, as the fear that he was deliberately keeping her out mounted, turning the fringes of her perception dark. Padmé had never expected Anakin to use his Jedi training against her, to shield himself from her view. She knew that she had not the skill or the knowledge to disrupt the barrier, and her conflicted feelings formed into a single question that resonated between their minds: _"Why are you doing this?"_

She became dimly aware of a large, warm hand cupping her cheek, and stared into a pair of intensely brilliant blue eyes. Those eyes captured her, holding her motionless and beyond all notion of escape, and swept her into an emotional embrace that was filled with love and light. It swirled around her like a cloud, like a fragrant mist, and she heard his voice whisper softly, _"It's all right. Trust me."  
_Some part of Padmé's brain understood that he had avoided her question and was angry about that – but the rest of her was drowning in the sensations their mental contact had awakened inside her soul. It was _wholeness_ – complete and utter acceptance of who she was and that she was unequivocally needed by the only man she had ever loved. She wanted to stay lost in that feeling forever…

"Master Anakin? Miss Padmé, are you all right?"  
Threepio's nervous inquiry disturbed the flow of their shared emotions, and Anakin blinked slowly, bringing his awareness back to the present moment. He felt his breath come and go heavily while distant echoes of what had just transpired between him and his wife caressed the edges of his memory. Padmé's half-closed eyelids fluttered, as if she was awakening from a deep sleep, and looked around in disorientation.  
The twins were utterly silent, watching their parents with eyes too old and wise for newborn babies.  
Anakin tacked on a reassuring grin and turned to Threepio, withdrawing his palm from Padmé's cheek. "We're fine, Threepio, we just had a long night. You said Master Yoda left?"  
"Yes, sir, early this morning. But neither he or Master Kenobi informed me of his intended destination, and Artoo told me that he did not know either."  
"Thanks, Threepio," Anakin replied, waving the droid towards the door. "Go get the tray for breakfast. We don't need to worry about where Yoda was heading." He shot a brief glance at Padmé, whose slightly dazed expression had sharpened with speculation throughout his exchange with Threepio.  
Threepio waddled across the threshold, muttering glumly to himself, "I'll never understand humans…" and the door slid closed behind his golden form.

"That's odd," Padmé commented mildly as she laid their now-calm daughter in the crib. "I wonder why Master Yoda is keeping his destination a secret from us." Anakin fidgeted in place uncomfortably, but she did not notice, sifting through the various piles of clothing on the bedspread. She glanced at him, her soft brown eyes merely curious, and asked, "Did he say anything to you yesterday when you spoke to him in the arboretum?"  
He shrugged, keeping his eyes on their son as he stepped over to the crib. He could sense Padmé's level gaze on his face, watching him place Luke beside his sister, and resisted the nervous urge to bite down on his lower lip. The last thing he wanted was to lie to her…but he was not ready to share with her every detail of the lengthy conversation that he had only skimmed over after dinner last night. So, he adopted Obi-Wan's favorite reasoning for dealing with a difficult situation – tell the truth from a certain point of view. "He did mention one planet in particular. It's called Dagobah, in the Outer Rim. He said that it was a sanctuary for Jedi."

"Sanctuary?" Padmé's eyebrows formed two high arches on her forehead. "Dagobah is nothing more than swamps inhabited by an interesting variety of wildlife. Why would he call it a sanctuary for Jedi?"  
"I don't know." That was the truth, pure and simple. And if Padmé was right about Dagobah's terrain, Anakin was looking forward to his impending visit even less than before. Swamps were humid, reeking of decomposing vegetation and coated with layers of mud – which meant that it probably rained there often, as well.  
Mud, rain, darkness…  
_Jabiim.  
_He pulled himself out of the past with a swift shake of his head, and gave his wife a lopsided grin. "It doesn't sound like the kind of planet I'd like to visit, but maybe it reminds Master Yoda of his homeworld – whatever that is."  
"I suppose…" Padmé's lips were pursed as she frowned thoughtfully, her keen mind running through possible scenarios that would motivate Yoda to journey to a relatively untamed planet and label it a 'sanctuary'. Jedi rarely, if ever, acted randomly – so Dagobah must have some hidden significance to the ancient Master.

Anakin could immediately tell that she was not placated by his vague answer – not that he really expected her to be – and reached for her, trying to stave off her insightful contemplation. "Speaking of homeworlds," he began, tenderly stroking her upper arms with his hands, "I've been thinking of making Naboo my official planet of origin."  
She blinked up at him, tilting her head to the side in puzzlement. "But you were born on Tatooine."  
Inwardly rejoicing that he had succeeded in distracting her, Anakin replied nonchalantly, "Tatooine was not my mother's choice as a place to live, so technically I don't really have a homeworld."  
"What about Coruscant?"

He chuckled low in his throat, his fingertips tracing patterns from her elbows to her neck as he spoke softly, "No one is actually _from_ Coruscant, and so it doesn't count either. It never felt like home to me, anyway – it was just another planet that I sort of ended up on." Anakin leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers, breathing in the fragrance of her skin. His fingers curled gently around her throat, and he fell willingly into the depths of her velvety dark eyes. "Naboo is my homeworld because it was where I finally came alive," he whispered, his lips brushing hers. "It was where you fell in love with me, and where I became yours forever."  
"Ani," Padmé sighed, lifting her chin in wordless, irresistible invitation. Anakin kissed her with tender sweetness, his thumbs playing along the curves of her jaw, and her slender arms wrapped around his lean waist, melting into the warmth of his body.

Something trilled sharply, startling them apart, and the twins let out simultaneous, ear-piercing screeches of surprise. Anakin's head whipped around, blue eyes darting around the room as he demanded, "What was that?"  
Padmé was giggling quietly, her hand covering a sheepish grin. "I set the alarm on the room's chronometer in case we didn't wake up on time. Though I guess it's a good thing I didn't shut it off, or we would be even more behind schedule as it is." She put her hands on her hips and gave him a chiding glare. "Which is _your_ fault, by the way."  
"Me? What did I do?"  
She poked him in the chest with her forefinger, using as much strength as she could muster.  
The hard muscle beneath her fingertip was as solidly built as a lump of rock, but Anakin staggered backwards slightly in feigned vulnerability, a smirk of pure mischief that he could not quite smother on his face. "You're distracting me, _Master Skywalker,"_ Padmé reprimanded sternly, though a glint of humor sparkled in her brown irises. "I have things to do."  
Anakin swept into a low bow, his gaze never leaving hers, and replied, "My sincerest apologies, _Milady._ I had the impression that you enjoyed my…distractions." The passionate intensity of his sapphire orbs seared her skin, and she suppressed a shiver. The twins were mumbling irritably in their crib, and after holding Padmé's attention with an unblinking stare for a few breathless seconds, Anakin moved towards the fretting newborns. His low, soft voice calmed Luke and Leia immediately, and it didn't matter that they could not understand his words yet. Their children knew from Anakin's warm tone that their father loved them unconditionally, and responded.

While he was occupied with the twins, Padmé began pawing through the garments strewn across the bed, examining each one with critical eyes and pursed lips. She had asked Threepio to gather together some clothing for herself and Anakin from the skiff, giving the droid the exact location from which to collect said attire. After all, Threepio was a protocol droid, not a personal assistant – and he had been programmed by Anakin, which meant that he had no sense of color coordination whatsoever.  
But it was obvious from the choices laid out before her that Threepio had received some assistance – probably from one of the handmaidens. Padmé fingered a navy blue tunic that her husband had worn no more than two or three times since she had purchased it for him over a year ago. He had told her not to spend anything on him – he was perfectly fine in his Jedi uniform – but when he came to her, whether the apartment on Coruscant or the villa on Naboo, she wanted him to forget about the war and the soldier that seemed to consume his personality, and just be Anakin. Clothing was a small but tangible symbol of that transformation.

As though he knew that she was thinking about him, and he probably did, Anakin ambled over to her side. When he was less than a step away, Padmé spun sideways and tossed the tunic at him, calling out playfully, "Catch!"  
He snatched it in mid-air, looking it over with curiosity and a hint of frustration, as if he recognized the tunic and did not know why. "There are some pants on the end of the bed," Padmé informed him as she continued perusing the selection of feminine outfits, "Get dressed; we're going to be late."  
"Where did all this stuff come from?" Anakin's voice was slightly muffled as he pulled the lightweight fabric over his head, pushing his arms through the sleeves.  
"Most of it was on the skiff," she replied absently, holding up a sleek but nondescript ivory jumpsuit. "Here:" she said as he finished fastening his utility belt, and held out two tiny squares of white. "Put these on the twins while I change."  
He complied, removing the pair of infant sleepers from his wife's hands, and watched in silent admiration for a moment as she tugged her nightgown off and began pulling on the jumpsuit. "Ani…" she warned, raising an eyebrow at him in reproach.

He turned around at once, focusing on the little ones in the crib and unfolded the cloth squares that fit in the palm of his hand. Leia was first; she tended to get a little restless when Anakin was attentive of only one twin, and she did not particularly enjoy changing clothes. The eldest Skywalker child remained calm and quiet as his father gently pulled his tiny arms and legs into a fresh outfit, watching Anakin with wide blue eyes while Leia started to fuss beside him.  
A slim, skilled pair of hands appeared in the corner of his eye and scooped up the whimpering infant. Anakin finished dressing Luke and straightened his spine, glancing sidelong at Padmé. She had wound her thick brown curls into a loose bun on the back of her head, and the color of her jumpsuit served to accentuate the peach and rose overtones of her creamy skin.

Threepio chose that moment to return with their breakfast tray, steam rising from the pair of covered dishes and mugs of warm liquid. Anakin's stomach gurgled almost painfully with hunger, and Padmé giggled when she heard the noise. Returning Leia to the crib, she sat down on the round repulsor chair while Anakin perched himself on the edge of the mattress, quickly snagging one of the dishes before Threepio could even set the tray down.  
They both ate at a fast pace – Anakin, because he was practically ravenous since last night's meal – and Padmé, because she was eager to get down to the hangar bay. Her enthusiasm was like a living thing, swirling and jumping wildly throughout the room, and it was highly contagious to the rest of her family.  
The twins let out random squeals of delight, their tiny limbs flailing energetically as they perceived their mother's disposition with their inherent talent, and Anakin saw the smile continuously playing along the corners of Padmé's mouth even as she sipped from her mug of caria tea.

While his wife was finishing the last few bites of her breakfast, Anakin called Threepio over and instructed, "Will you make sure that the rest of our belongings are taken down to the hangar bay, Threepio? We won't be able to carry them along with Luke and Leia."  
Of course, the protocol droid agreed with profuse zeal, and began packing the extra bundle of clothing into a small suitcase. Anakin stacked their used flatware and utensils atop the tray and then stood, stretching his long arms high over his head with a low groan. Padmé was already attending to the twins, leaning into the crib and lifting one precious burden into her arms.  
He observed with interest as she tucked their daughter into a small sling that was strapped across her chest; Leia nestled contentedly against her mother's warm body, her tiny head resting on Padmé's collarbone.  
Feeling his gaze on her, Padmé looked up at Anakin with a sweet smile. "I only have one," she explained, gesturing with one hand at the sling. "You don't mind carrying Luke, do you?"

He shook his head once and walked towards her, their son lying comfortably in the crook of his left arm. When he reached her side, Anakin took her hand in his, twining their fingers together. Her favorite lopsided grin lit up his handsome face, and then he murmured softly, "Let's go home."  
The little family headed for the doorway, Threepio toddling behind with a suitcase in each hand, and made their way to the northern turbolift of the MedCenter.


	27. Kaleidoscope: Carnelian

**Chapter Twenty-Two  
**_**Kaleidoscope: Carnelian**_

"How is it coming, Artoo?"  
The little blue and white astromech unit whistled a short string of notes that sounded optimistic, an interface jack still linking him to the refurbished Delta-7's main system. Obi-Wan took a few steps sideways and leaned into the cockpit to study the computer readout. All that was visible was a constant line of numbered code, flashing a brilliant crimson in the dim light.  
The Delta-7 was an outmoded short-range fighter – Obi-Wan himself had flown one to Kamino nearly four years ago to investigate the assassination attempt on Senator Amidala's life – and meant to be operated with an astromech counterpart. This particular model had been upgraded with a more recent central intelligence chip, which therefore rendered the need for an attached droid unnecessary. The Jedi Master was merely enlisting Artoo's help in conducting some basic diagnostics on the ship's systems before the mass exodus from Polis Massa.

Padmé's former handmaidens were all present, though Sabé, Moteé and Ellé were still aboard the skiff getting ready. Obi-Wan had greeted them upon his arrival to the hangar bay, but had since paid them no mind, concentrating instead on getting this ship spaceworthy enough for a Jedi.  
The screen suddenly flashed a solid red, and then went black. Obi-Wan's head whipped to the side. "What was that?" he asked. Artoo chirped, his electronic eye winking from red to blue, and a high-pitched whine filled the hangar bay as the ship's main power hummed to life. Obi-Wan watched the cockpit's console light up, a small grin curving his mouth, and he patted Artoo on his domed head. "Good job, Artoo. Thank you for all your help." The little droid tweeted at him and unplugged from the interface jack just as the turbolift door slid open and Anakin and Padmé walked forward hand in hand, each carrying an infant.

Spotting his best friend, Anakin bent his head over his wife's and murmured quietly in her ear. She nodded in response and released his hand, heading towards the trio of women waiting near the skiff, while he made a beeline to Obi-Wan. His sharp blue eyes appraised the Delta-7 in a few heartbeats. "Outdated," he commented with assurance, "but it's been kept in excellent condition, and looks like it's been given a hyperspace engine rather than having to rely on an orbital ring." A smirk tilted his mouth as his gaze flickered to Obi-Wan. "I'm surprised you didn't ask for another ship. I thought you _hated_ the Delta-7 model, calling it something along the lines of 'a flying Rodian deathtrap'."  
"I was not referring to the model in general," Obi-Wan retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, "just my personal experience with such a craft."  
Rather than replying, Anakin's gaze shifted to a point near his former Master's elbow. "I'm sure Artoo checked it out for you. He wouldn't let you leave here in a deathtrap, would you, Artoo?" A trill warble echoed around them, and Anakin nodded to himself in confidence. "I didn't think so. See, Master? You have nothing to worry about." And he grinned widely, eyes twinkling.  
Obi-Wan stared at the young man in silence for a full minute, and then shook his head. "You are so odd…" He brushed past Anakin without sparing him a glance, while his friend's low chuckle grated against his tenuous hold on serenity.

The two men followed the curve of the _Aiwha's_ port side, knowing that Padmé's skiff was docked further within the bay. Six figures were standing around the skiff's boarding ramp – and as they neared, a voice that sounded like Padmé's, though her lips were not moving, called out, "Well? How do I look?"  
Anakin had to mentally reassure himself that his beloved wife was the smiling, casually dressed woman with a baby resting against her body and not the grim, sad-eyed woman clad in soft elegance, facing Padmé like a living reflection in a mirror between realities.  
A brushed metal headpiece the color of beaten bronze encircled the woman's head with seven arms of sculpted curves, holding in place a thick mauve-colored veil. A short cape of the same color covered the woman's upper body from shoulder to mid-torso, and a high-waisted skirt wrapped around her lower body, secured by the left thigh with three bronze rectangles. A filmy, flowing dress of cool ivory completed the ensemble, clothing her body from neck to ankles and was cinched at her wrists by cuffed sleeves.

When they were less than a dozen steps from the others, Obi-Wan noticed that Sabé's radiation-bleached gold and chestnut hair had been chemically dyed to a deeper brown and coaxed into a tamed mass of glossy curls beneath the veil. The distinct almond shape of her dark eyes was disguised by subtle shading around her eyelids, and the slightly angular planes of her cheekbones were made to look fuller by a dusting of rose blush.  
Padmé reached out and took Sabé's hand, squeezing it gently. "You look absolutely perfect," she declared with a smile. Then, her expression sobered, and her gaze smoldered with profound gratitude. "I can't tell you how grateful I am for your help."  
The decoy's facial features seemed to reshape themselves before everyone's eyes, and then the Sabé from yesterday was standing in front of them, wearing Senator Amidala's clothes like a child playing dress-up. "I know…" she replied softly, squeezing her friend's hand in return. "And I will remind you yet again that I am pleased and proud to help you and your family any way I can." She watched Padmé's eyes shift, looking over her right shoulder, and smirked lopsidedly while glancing behind as well.

Moteé and Ellé were standing on either side of the skiff's boarding ramp like graceful sentinels, garbed in matching gowns of pale lilac with short capes the same hue as Sabé's. "You said it was my decision regarding which two handmaidens to take to Coruscant with me," Sabé remarked quietly, turning back to face Padmé. "They were the most logical choice. Both are recognized as your handmaidens, and are the most familiar with the layout of the capital and your apartment – aside from Dormé," she added as an afterthought. "Moteé is a little nervous, understandably, but the kid has blasted off to interstellar orbit with enthusiasm." A low sigh escaped from her painted lips. "I appreciate Ellé's fervor for the mission – I see a bit of myself five or six years ago in her – but I am concerned that she may let that fervor cloud her thinking."  
Padmé could translate Sabé's statement easily enough. Basically, she was saying _"I can't be worried about one handmaiden blowing my cover right in the heart of enemy territory."_

Padmé glanced across the bay at Ellé for a moment. Even at this distance she could see the young woman's tawny eyes dancing energetically, though her demeanor was coolly composed. Padmé's gaze transferred to her decoy, and she replied with firm conviction, "Ellé is one of the best handmaidens that have ever served me. Her age has been a constant concern for Captain Typho, and even Anakin was reluctant of her involvement at first…but she knows how to keep the proper perspective in a tense situation. She is also amazingly perceptive to someone's emotional state. My advice is to have her with you at all times during Senate proceedings if possible."  
Sabé nodded as Anakin's slow footsteps approached from the side. Leia stirred inside the sling cocooning her tiny form with the increasing proximity of her twin, and Padmé abruptly snatched Sabé's other hand, gripping both tightly with her own. She muttered rapidly, each word burning with anxiety, "Please, Sabé – _please_ be careful. Coruscant has become a lair for evil these past few days, and it is affecting everyone on the planet. Do whatever you must to stay focused. Do not hesitate to call upon Bail if you have need."

"I will," she promised, and then turned her head to throw a falsely serious glower at Anakin, who was now within hearing distance of the two women. "Be nice to my ship, Skywalker," she warned, "or you won't be flying again for a _very _long time."  
Anakin grinned broadly, draping an arm lightly around Padmé's waist while the twins cooed to one another in wordless greeting. "The _Aiwha_ will be just exactly the same as you left it, Sabé. Better, even."  
"Just don't go changing all of my settings."  
He chuckled under his breath – and quieted swiftly as Obi-Wan stepped forward. The Jedi Master's blue-grey eyes seemed darker in the hangar bay's limited lighting, and there was no mistaking the thin lines of worry creasing his brow. His steady gaze did not waver from Sabé as he came near, and Anakin, employing a rare show of tact, gently steered Padmé a few paces to the side to give them some privacy.

Obi-Wan paused less than a foot from Sabé, the picture of Jedi-like passive serenity – but that was only on the outside. Within his heart, the usually glass-calm waters of his feelings were churning beneath the surface, punctuated by a sudden spike of apprehension.  
Folding his arms inside the wide sleeves of his robe, Obi-Wan imparted to Sabé quietly, "I have tried many times in the last forty-eight hours to pierce the shadows covering Coruscant with my vision in the Force, but have been unsuccessful." He hesitated for a heartbeat, studying her expression intently. "I fear some threat is lying in wait on the capital, watching for Senator Amidala's arrival. This threat is malicious enough that it cannot be completely hidden by the power of the dark side. And that worries me."  
He pulled his arms apart, holding something in his right fist. Opening his fingers in the small distance between them, Sabé looked down at the object resting on his palm with interest, while Obi-Wan's eyes remained on her face. Anakin craned his neck slightly, his eyebrows rising in surprise when he realized what his friend was holding. Padmé tugged on his tunic, mouthing, "What is it?"  
Instead of replying, Anakin merely held her stare with a significant gleam in his blue eyes, and tilted his head just slightly in Obi-Wan's direction, indicating that she should pay attention to the conversation.

A tiny, round object no bigger than a button lay in the center of Obi-Wan's slightly cupped hand. It was solid black, with a domed surface that shone faintly in the overhead light. "This is a homing beacon," he explained somberly, "one of many new advances in technology that the Clone Wars inspired. It is nearly undetectable to any scanning devices, and its frequency is emitted on a channel not known to the Empire." Sabé's wide eyes flew to his, her keen mind racing to the conclusion before it was spoken. Nevertheless, he continued in a low voice, "I would like you to keep it on your person at all times. If you are taken into custody, all you need to do is run your fingertip over its surface and it will activate."  
"And then you'll come to my rescue?" Sabé joked, tacking on a one-sided smile – though her heart was thundering wildly against her ribcage in response to an unconscious hope that had suddenly awakened with his offer for aid.  
His ocean-colored irises glowed with utter sincerity. "It is the least I can do for a friend."  
Warmth flooded her chest, rippling outwards to fill her limbs and set her fingertips tingling. It was such a strange sensation – Sabé found that she could not define its origin, or the varying emotions fluttering like trapped birds within her heart.  
Her strategically conditioned mind resumed control after less than a handful of seconds, and she asked, her eyebrows drawn together in the center of her forehead, "What will you do if _you_ are captured?"

Obi-Wan smiled – a full expression that curved his lips into a perfect half-circle – and his rigid stance relaxed just noticeably. "I have my own mission to fulfill, and will hardly be alone if I do indeed have to storm the capital and free you from the clutches of a Sith Lord." He said this with the right amount of levity and seriousness to earn one of her glittering smiles, despite his enigmatic statement about having his own mission to fulfill. "Besides," he concluded with a shrug, his tone mild, "I am fairly certain that any clone trooper would not risk trying to take the Negotiator into custody without backup, and prefer to just shoot me on sight."  
"Nice to see that you haven't lost your optimism, Master Kenobi," Sabé retorted sarcastically.  
Then all manner of playfulness retreated from her features, her eyes shimmering like liquid-brown pools as she murmured, her voice ringing with deep thankfulness, "Thank you."  
Obi-Wan inclined his head and tipped his hand towards her, the beacon dropping lightly onto her pale palm. He began to withdraw, preparing to tuck his hand back into his robe, when Sabé's slender hands shot out unexpectedly and grasped it tightly, sandwiching his weathered, callused hand between hers.

The Jedi Master had half a second to brace himself for the tidal wave of nameless emotion that erupted from their point of contact. Like a scalding-hot geyser exploding from a crack in the earth, the feeling seemed to be increasing in intensity and strength, pulling at Obi-Wan's Jedi-trained sense of focus like a ship passing too close to a black hole's gravity well.  
It was pulling him towards Sabé.  
Awareness dawned in his thoughts, flashing brilliantly like a polished mirror reflecting a ray of sunlight.  
He and Sabé shared a connection – a connection that neither of them had planned on or encouraged through their actions, and appeared to be ordained by the will of the Force, for there was no other explanation. What this connection entailed for the future, Obi-Wan had not the slightest inkling.  
Perhaps it was nothing more than simple friendship. After all, he was a Jedi, and far too old for someone like Sabé – a woman who, though she was undeniably beautiful, infuriated him almost as much as Anakin.  
But her eyes were so dark, swirling with glimmering flecks of starlight…and her fingers felt so soft and warm, wrapped around his hand…

He jerked himself away from the dangerous brink of losing self-control just as Sabé spoke with quiet feeling, "Goodbye, Obi-Wan, my friend. May the Force be with you."  
She dropped his hand and spun on heel, heading for the skiff. As she passed by, Sabé laid her palm on Anakin's shoulder, touched each twin lightly on the head, and kissed Padmé on the cheek. In a flurried swish of ivory and mauve, she vanished into the skiff, Moteé and Ellé trailing behind. The engines roared to life and lifted the vessel off of the hangar bay's metallic floor, gliding towards the rectangular doorway.  
As the skiff passed the bay's central sensor terminal, a crackling blue-white force field sealed off the farthest half of the bay as depressurization allowed the skiff to drift into open space. Like a sculpted shard of silver, Padmé's Star Skiff floated over the threshold, its pointed nose angling upwards to the stars, and everyone watched as its engines flared with a burst of exploding ion and sped away from Polis Massa.


	28. Kaleidoscope: Citrine

**Chapter Twenty-Three  
**_**Kaleidoscope: Citrine**_

Obi-Wan stood only a few feet from the force field, appearing to be studying the energy cascade as he folded his arms and tugged absently on his sandy-blonde beard. Truthfully, he was watching a mirrored triangle in his mind's eye, soaring through the spinning whirlpool of hyperspace, heading directly into the blackest night that shrouded the Core worlds and was slowly spreading across the galaxy like a bloodstain. He could still feel the imprint of Sabé's fingers on his hand. It was accompanied by a faint ache deep inside his chest – like the absence of her touch had created a void, or perhaps had made him aware of a void that he had never known had existed in his soul.

Padmé noticed Obi-Wan's statue-like posture, remaining in place long after the force field had dissolved, and glanced up at her husband with a silent plea.  
Anakin shook his head, his blue eyes brimming with empathy for the man whom he called his brother, and whispered into her ear, "Let him have a few more minutes. Then I'll go talk to him."  
Three sets of light footsteps advanced from the right, and the Skywalker family looked in that direction as the remaining handmaidens drew near, ready to depart as well. Padmé walked forward to stand among them, meeting each one's eyes as she inquired, "Have you all chosen your primary location?"

Rabé, eager to get underway, took a step forward. She was dressed in faded battle fatigues from the Corellian military and weighted with more weaponry than Anakin had ever seen on one being, let alone a petite human woman. Padmé noted with a small grin that Rabé was also now sporting a Fallanassi protection tattoo under her left eye, its delicately shaped tendrils curling up her temple to meet her eyebrow and decorating the apple of her cheek.  
"Milady, I have decided on the Arkanis Sector, with Tatooine as my primary location."  
Anakin's brows rose. No wonder she was dressed to look like a beautiful yet formidable bounty hunter. It was the only occupation with that much personal arsenal that no one would question, even in the grittiest parts of Mos Eisley. And because of past experiences on the planet, both his and Padmé's, the Empire was sure to send a squadron of clone troopers to investigate. He only hoped that Rabé was up to the challenge – though judging by the way she handled the conspicuous nature of a heavily armed woman, Anakin was certain that she would be fine.

Dormé then spoke up in her usual soft manner. "I will stay on the Inner Rim worlds. I have several in mind, and I also have a few loose ends to tie up in the Hapes Cluster." From her place beside Rabé, the genteel woman was as different from her companion as day is to night. Dormé's slim frame was swathed in a vivid teal gown that shimmered with iridescent tones of green and blue whenever she moved, and her dark tresses were coiled into an elaborate design on one side of her head, woven through with a satin ribbon the same shade as her gown. The entire ensemble was just as elegant as anything Padmé had worn as a Galactic Senator, if not more so; the Hapans valued beauty more than any other trait, and the women in particular took a ridiculously vain pride in their looks. Dormé would blend into the Consortium as easily as a raindrop falling into the ocean.

Anakin's blue eyes flickered to the third and final handmaiden, only to find that she was looking at him as well. His stomach twisted in on itself almost painfully as he met Yané's deep russet stare. He had tried so hard since his strange flash in the conference room to remember the Jedi Padawan called Cian Wynn, but continually came up empty. The only thing he had to go on was the face he had glimpsed briefly in the conference room's transparisteel viewport and the words that ghostly face had whispered inside his skull. Yané had told Padmé that he and Cian had spoken to one another on Jabiim. Anakin felt incredibly guilty that he could not even recall what the other Jedi looked like, when it was obvious from Yané's description that Cian had thought very highly of him.

Yané was the only woman in the trio that was not dressed in order to play a role. Indeed, she was clothed in a jumpsuit very similar to the one that Padmé was wearing, except that hers was dove grey with navy trim and a little more close-fitting; Yané's lithe form made the utilitarian garment appear as chic as Dormé's costly outfit. The handmaiden's sleek brown hair was pulled back in a style much like the one Padmé had worn on Geonosis, and was wearing a holstered blaster on her right hip. She kept her gaze trained on Anakin while she announced evenly, "After I conclude some personal business on Telos, I will jump to a few worlds known to be places of significance for the Jedi Order."  
"Like Ilum?" Padmé asked. She had been there once before, with Master Yoda, and knew that the frozen wasteland guarded several caves that were filled with crystals used during lightsaber construction. Yané finally shifted her stare from Anakin to Padmé and gave a short nod.

"Those worlds are bound to have clones stationed on them," Anakin cautioned, a worried frown shaping his lips. "They will be there to make sure that no remaining Jedi find a safe place to hide from Order 66. If you are seen entering one of those places – even if they think you are Padmé – "  
"They will not take me alive," Yané asserted bluntly, her face hard and unyielding. "I am not afraid of death. It is but a doorway through which we all must pass…and I know that Cian is waiting for me on the other side."  
Anakin stared back at her, clearly frustrated by her attitude, and Padmé laid a hand on Yané's stiffened shoulder. She jerked slightly at the contact, the hardened cast to her features melting, and Padmé murmured quietly, "But you _will_ be careful, won't you?"  
Yané smiled tightly, like her face was still getting used to forming the expression, and reached up to pat Padmé's hand. "Of course. I don't have a death wish. I just wanted you both to know where I stand on the issue of possible detainment."  
"We would never ask you to make that kind of sacrifice." Anakin strode forward quickly, standing right behind his wife, his cobalt gaze suddenly intense.  
"I know." Yané glanced at him, and then returned her attention to Padmé. "It is a sacrifice that _I_ am willing to make, and one that I _will_ make if I must."

Padmé's wide eyes swam with tears and Yané, moved by her friend's compassion, swiftly enfolded her in a hug though she was mindful of the fragile infant snuggled against Padmé's chest.  
They broke apart, and after a soft chorus of farewells the three handmaidens walked towards the Hapan Stingray, where they marched single file up the boarding ramp. After leaving Polis Massa, they would plot a hyperspace course to Eriadu and then part ways – Dormé in the Stingray, Rabé in a ship that she intended to purchase at the spaceport, and Yané on a public transport.  
Anakin watched the Hapan vessel rise off of its landing struts, its silver-blue metallic skin lustrous in the hangar bay's lights, with a slightly disheartened expression. "I didn't even have the chance to go inside it," he mumbled sadly.  
Padmé laughed softly, and stood on her tiptoes in order to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Your chance will come, Ani," she promised. The low whirr of servomotors filled the silence left in the wake of the Stingray's departure, and Padmé glanced over her shoulder to see Artoo rolling towards them, his extendable arm guiding a hovering bassinet laden with clean white blankets.

"Thank you, Artoo," she said warmly, and the little droid tootled in response. She touched Anakin's cheek lightly with her fingertips. He sighed and leaned into her hand, closing his eyes briefly. "Put Luke down in the bassinet, Ani," she advised, "and go talk to Obi-Wan. He needs you."  
Obeying her words, Anakin bent down and laid his tiny son, now asleep, amid the tangled cloud of blankets. Then he straightened and looked over the top of Padmé's head at Obi-Wan, who had not moved from his spot near the force field for some time. "Artoo," he said in a low voice, "start powering up the _Aiwha_. I'll be along in a minute."  
He slowly crept around his wife and moved to join his former Master, coming to a stop directly beside him. Anakin scrutinized Obi-Wan's face from the corner of his eye, wondering what he was thinking, what internal battle he was fighting – and like always, the Jedi Master's expression was passively blank, except for the barely discernible tightening around his eyes and the tension in his bearded jaw line.

The younger man clasped his hands loosely behind his back – a habitual stance he used for meditation – and commented offhandedly, "Padmé is relieved that her friend has someone like you to count on if things get rough on Coruscant, but I don't think you need to worry about Sabé; she's very good."  
For a moment, there was no sound save for their even breathing and the slow building whine of the _Aiwha's_ engines. Then, Obi-Wan replied in a pensive tone just above a whisper, "Indeed she is. She is quite unique."  
Anakin turned his upper body to look at the older man, a lopsided smirk tilting his mouth. "You and Sabé seem to be getting along. In fact, I would say that you two were speaking on a more personal level than just old acquaintances when she said goodbye. One might think," he added, quirking an eyebrow, "that you were…disturbed to see her go."

Obi-Wan stiffened, his hand frozen on his chin in mid-tug. Spinning sideways in a smooth, abrupt motion, he fixed Anakin with a fierce admonishing glare. "Do not look for hidden meanings where there are none to be found, my young Padawan." Each syllable punched the air like a cracking whip. Anakin's face, rather than lowering in the usual contrite manner, was awash in surprise, his lips parted slightly and his blue eyes wide as he stared at his best friend. It took Obi-Wan another second to realize that he had addressed Anakin as his Padawan – a title he had not held for over a year. The slip had happened so naturally because it had been a frequent reminder from Master to apprentice during the course of Anakin's training, and because Obi-Wan did not have a steady grasp on his emotions.

He released a slow, deep breath, his shoulders slumping a bit, and turned his head back towards the hangar bay's door. "I respect Sabé as a woman of character, and as a friend," he said, clarifying his earlier, vague statement. "She is unlike anyone I have ever met. I…do not want any harm to come to her. That is why I gave her the homing beacon. Because she is my friend," he reiterated firmly.  
The old, quicksilver flash of boldness illuminated Anakin's cerulean irises, and the question left his mouth before he even had the notion to pause and consider the implications. "Have you ever wanted more than friendship with a woman?"  
Sharp storm-colored orbs pierced his gaze – an unspoken reprimand as harsh as any words. Anakin stared determinedly back, refusing to withdraw the question that was more of a challenge than an honest inquiry because he believed whole-heartedly that the answer was extremely important.

Time ticked by. Anakin began measuring the seconds by each beat of his heart – until finally Obi-Wan's eyes grew less severe and he responded calmly, "My wants are contrary to my life as a Jedi, Anakin. I am older than you, and more set in my ways." He folded his arms across his chest, tucked his hands inside the sleeves of his robe. "This is the life that I have chosen, and it is the way I must remain."  
Anakin inhaled quickly through his nose, fighting off a stab of annoyance. Obi-Wan was avoiding the issue – steering around a potential hazard without even considering that the hazard might not exist in the first place. All caution and no risk-taking, like nearly every Jedi in the Order. It drove him insane.  
"You didn't answer my question."  
Obi-Wan glanced sidelong at his moody best friend with a mixture of resignation and muted affection. "Perhaps I _did_ want more…once. But I have grown up since then, Anakin, and striven to be the best Jedi that I could become – the great Jedi that Qui-Gon had foreseen I would be. _You_ may have learned to surpass the restrictions of the Code…but I am firmly rooted in its principles." His eyes fell. "I doubt that I could change even if I wanted to."

The atmosphere inside the cavernous hangar bay suddenly changed, the air electrified with energy, and the tiny hairs on Obi-Wan's arms rose, causing him to shiver. A whisper, as gentle and tangible as a summer breeze, floated to his ear.  
"_Change is an inevitable part of life, Obi-Wan. Remaining stagnant is contradictory to the very nature of the Force itself. You must learn to keep your mind – and your heart – open."  
__Qui-Gon?  
_Obi-Wan blinked, his subconscious replying bewilderedly to the voice before the rest of his mind had begun to grasp the meaning behind the words. Qui-Gon had never spoken to him about change while he was alive; it was not from one of his memories of his beloved Master, whom he had loved as a father. Obi-Wan had committed every scrap of wisdom the man had uttered since he had become his Padawan.  
But if it was not the echo of a memory, then what…?

Anakin could see the astonishment on his former mentor's face, the wide, childlike roundness of his blue-grey eyes, and smiled. Qui-Gon would be able to reach Obi-Wan – he was certain of it.  
He bit the inside of his cheek to hide the smile, and changed the subject. "What 'mission' were you talking about before? The one you mentioned to Sabé?"  
The older man blinked rapidly numerous times, the faraway glaze in his eyes evaporating, and offered Anakin the ghost of a smile. "Master Yoda asked me to make some house-calls on several enclaves throughout the galaxy, in search of stranded or wounded Jedi."

"But the enclaves were abandoned during the war. All the Jedi were called out to fight."  
"They were home to many young members of the Order," Obi-Wan reminded him. "A frightened Padawan will head for the one place that he or she feels is safe. I must find them before the Empire does."  
Anakin cocked his head to the side, remarking thoughtfully, "Yané was planning on traveling to some of those worlds as well."  
"Yes, I know." He shifted his stance, transferring his weight from one foot to the other. The cast had finally been removed from his leg after a miraculous recovery where the bone seemed to have regenerated overnight. He had Yoda to thank for that. "She approached me early this morning and listed off several planets that Cian must have told her about. Fortunately, none of her intended destinations coincide with mine, so neither of our missions will be compromised."

Obi-Wan's level gaze turned oddly speculative as he said, "Speaking of missions…you have your own to prepare for. I expect you to be ready for my arrival on Naboo in one week – at dawn. I am to take you to Dagobah, and then resume my mission."  
Anakin paled, and his eyes darted around wildly, searching for Padmé. He calmed somewhat when he saw her standing a few meters away, near the _Aiwha's_ boarding ramp, leaning into the bassinet while caressing Leia's forehead with gentle fingers. Yet his eyes retained their frantic, feverish gleam as they swung back to Obi-Wan.  
The Jedi Master had summed up his reaction in a heartbeat. "You have not told her?" It was more of a statement than a question.

He shook his head, his gaze shifting to Padmé as though drawn by a magnetic current. "I can't. Not yet," he muttered urgently, and it seemed to Obi-Wan that he was trying to convince himself more than the Jedi Master. "She's so…_happy _now. I can't ruin that. I'll tell her in a few days."  
"She does not appreciate being kept in the dark, Anakin," Obi-Wan chided gently.  
Anakin let out a gusty sigh, raking a hand through his tousled locks. "I know. But I can't –" He cut off abruptly, the wildness in his blue eyes intensifying for a brief second, and then it vanished altogether as he spun around, a casual grin lighting up his face.

The sound of Padmé's voice caused Obi-Wan to rotate at a slower pace than Anakin while she was announcing to them with barely restrained joy, "We're all set." She had removed the sling that had been carrying Leia, and must have sensed her husband's unspoken question because she added, "Threepio is looking after the twins."  
"A droid of many talents," Obi-Wan remarked wryly. Then he gestured towards the _Aiwha_ with a hand. "I'll see you off."  
The trio ambled leisurely to the boarding ramp, at which point they halted, glancing at one another as though each wanted to say some type of meaningful farewell – but could not find the desire to break the peaceful communion that now existed between them.

Eventually, Obi-Wan felt inclined to cease prolonging the inevitable. Turning to Padmé, he extended his hands to her with an affectionate smile. Her heart-shaped face glowed as brilliantly as a star, dark eyes shining, and bypassed his hands to enfold the Jedi Master in a warm embrace. "You are my brother, Obi-Wan," she whispered, tears sparkling like chips of diamond on her eyelashes. "Be safe. Come visit us soon."  
He pulled away from her a bit, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching her skin as he kissed her cheek in a familial way. Padmé's gaze slid sideways to her husband – an automatic reaction she had cultivated in recent weeks – to gauge his emotions. There was not the barest shadow of jealous possession darkening Anakin's handsome face, and his eyes were clear, the irises twinkling like laser-cut cobalt crystal.

Obi-Wan stepped away from her and faced Anakin, his expression laden with a myriad of feelings. The younger man returned his fixed stare, reading some of the more definable emotions on his former Master's face, and he flattened his lips together to keep the lower one from trembling. He had so much that he wanted to say – so much to thank him for…but the words would not come. Anakin sought to convey his thoughts through his eyes, boring steadily into Obi-Wan's gaze, and saw the Jedi Master's composed features flicker in response. He lifted his right hand in silence. Anakin reached out to clasp his forearm – the universal symbol of brotherhood – and held on tightly.

And there was nothing else to say. These two men were brothers – welded together by time and circumstance, battered and shaped by conflict, plunged into the very fires of hell itself, and had emerged not in broken, twisted pieces – but strengthened by a re-forged bond that would outlast eternity.  
Yet, Obi-Wan could not resist the impulse to speak a final benediction nearly as old as the universe itself. "May the Force be with you," he murmured huskily. "My brother."

Anakin's squared chin quivered, his vision blurred with saltwater, and found that he had no voice through which to return the traditional farewell. So he nodded shakily, clenching his teeth against the overwhelming surge of camaraderie that he felt for this man who was a brother, a father, a teacher, a comrade-in-arms, and a friend.  
Reluctantly, he released Obi-Wan's arm, his own falling limply to his side, and heard a quiet sniff.  
Padmé was wiping at her eyes with her knuckles, her cheeks damp with tears, though a tiny smile lightly curved her full lips. Anakin pulled her to him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. "Ready?" he asked in a hushed tone.  
She nodded, taking a deep breath, and raised her chin to offer Obi-Wan a bright grin. "You're welcome on Naboo anytime, Obi-Wan. We would love to have you."  
"Thank you, Padmé," he replied warmly. He met Anakin's eyes for a heartbeat, and the young man could see the silent reminder in those blue-grey orbs. _One week._

Obi-Wan watched the couple stroll side by side up the boarding ramp, his arm holding her close and hers coiled around his waist, and the ship sealed with an audible hiss of pressurized air.  
The _Aiwha _rose smoothly from the hangar bay floor, guided by Anakin's practiced touch, and Obi-Wan raised a hand above his head in farewell as the vessel floated out to space.

He sensed the Administrator's arrival just as the Polis Massan reported, "All of our security precautions have been implemented, Master Kenobi. The med droids' memories are successfully wiped, the data chips and computer logs have been erased, and all tangible evidence has been destroyed."  
"And the secondary protocol?" Obi-Wan asked with quiet seriousness, his head turning just a fraction of an inch towards the Administrator.  
"Uploaded and ready."  
The Jedi Master nodded introspectively. The secondary protocol he was referring to was not just another contingency plan…but a last resort. It was a highly corrosive computer virus that Artoo had modified specifically for the MedCenter's network. When triggered by a six-digit keystroke sequence, the virus would erupt from its secured hideout buried behind a dozen firewalls and infect the entire complex in a matter of seconds. At one minute, the virus would begin erasing every stored file in the database. At three minutes, it would proceed to delete the main system hard drive. By five minutes, the network would be a blank slate.

An added feature to the virus, dubbed "Little Blue" – Anakin's suggestion as a tribute to its creator – was that any connected device would automatically become infected as well. The unknown side effect of the infection was that the virus's counterpart would clone the connected device's data on the auxiliary system _before_ file deletion. That way, if an Imperial tech happened to link with the system, every scrap of information known to the Empire would become available to their side at the touch of a button.  
Ingenious, to say the least.  
"I should also inform you, my friend," Tuun continued, interrupting Obi-Wan's musings, "that Port Control has received a broadband transmission indicating that a Star Destroyer has been spotted in the Sluis Sector."

Obi-Wan became absolutely still – a marble carving – at this news. The Sluis Sector was only a mere 200 parsecs from Polis Massa. As he had suspected, the Emperor was relentlessly driving the clone troopers in their sweep of the galaxy to find Anakin Skywalker's child. He had not expected them to reach the fringes of the Outer Rim quite so soon, however.  
"Then it is long past time for me to depart," he replied firmly, and strode off in the direction of the Delta-7, primed for take-off. Obi-Wan climbed into the cockpit, settling himself comfortably as best he could – he had a _very_ long flight ahead of him.

Stretching out with his right hand, he waited for Administrator Tuun to wrap the elongated digits of his hand around his own before speaking. "I do not wish to belittle the repeated gratitude of myself and the others," Obi-Wan began quietly, "but we truly owe you and this colony a debt that can never be repaid. You have given so much to us, and yet you are willing to sacrifice even more to preserve the safety of Anakin and his family, and the Jedi as a whole." He withdrew from the Polis Massan's grasp and began flipping switches, the Delta-7 thrumming beneath him. "Farewell, my friend," he called, just as the transparisteel cockpit bubble sealed around him. Tuun retreated to a safe distance as the snub fighter hovered into the air and swung around like an arrowhead, heading for the hangar bay doors.

Once the vessel was past the hangar's shielding, Obi-Wan gunned the engines and shot off into orbit, following the specified coordinates to a safe jump joint just outside the asteroid field. Entering the numbers into the navicomputer, guided by Yoda's recollections and the Force, the Jedi Master took a deep breath and gazed out into open space. The inky blackness, decorated by thousands of glimmering stars, felt oddly welcoming to Obi-Wan. There were no complications in space; it was empty, peaceful, and soothing. Of course, he probably would not feel that way after he had been trapped in this extremely small cockpit for the next four days. He would have barely enough time to search the ruins before he had to turn around and head clear across the galaxy to Naboo. Obi-Wan was not very confident that any wayward Jedi would take refuge in the salvaged enclave on the southern plains of Dantooine – but it was not a well-known spot to most galactic citizens. Not to mention the fact that most of the grounds surrounding the ruins were infested by laigreks, kath hounds and other…unsavory creatures – none of which posed any threat to a Jedi.

Perhaps one of his brethren _was _sheltered there. After all, the universe was full of surprises.  
"One never knows…" Obi-Wan mumbled to himself. He activated the hyperdrive, and starlines streamed all around the cockpit as the Delta-7 leapt into hyperspace, leaving Polis Massa behind and launching the Jedi Master headfirst into the swirling oblivion of the unknown.


	29. Kaleidoscope: Obsidian

**Chapter Twenty-Four  
**_**Kaleidoscope: Obsidian**_

The air was damp and musty in the tunnels. Hewn from solid sandstone deep beneath the Palace, the tunnels were originally built as an additional security measure for Naboo's ruler and staff in the event of planetary invasion. Like the veins in a beating heart, passageways spidered outward in all directions from a central chamber, located directly under the throne room. Rivulets of water – residue from the waterfalls framing one side of the Palace – gleamed dully in the torchlight of several wrought iron lanterns, hung all around the circumference of the circular chamber. Large columns, elegantly carved from the stone by a skilled artist now dead for ten generations, guarded the entryways that loomed blackly in the dim light.

Queen Apailana sat at the head of a roughly oblong stone slab, doubling as a conference table, in the center of the underground room. She appeared to be the only one out of the dozen handmaidens, guards, and government officials crowding her side of the chamber that was relatively at ease with their current situation. Her small hands were folded lightly atop the gritty stone, and her childlike features were composed…but her large eyes glittered dangerously from the shadowed hollows beneath her brow as she met the stare of the one seated across from her. The young monarch could not see his face – only vague outlines of an aquiline nose and a firm mouth, illuminated by the yellow-orange firelight.

The visitor had arrived on Naboo about ten days ago, stumbling into the Palace and demanding to speak to the Queen. He had been almost catatonic; eyes dull and unfocused, the skin of his face a sickly white, he requested asylum – and collapsed when it was granted.  
Apailana had ordered her personal physician to conduct a thorough examination, and she had determined that his physical exhaustion stemmed from some sort of psychological trauma. She had also discovered and treated several unhealed wounds caused by high-heat energy beams, as well as unusual electrical burns on his chest and torso. He appeared to be a human male in his early to mid-twenties, but there was nothing else about him that could help identify him.  
As he slept without waking for nearly thirty-six hours, Apailana sent out several missives to the surrounding systems' governments as well as an official inquiry to the Republic Galactic Intelligence Bureau – but no definitive information could be found.  
When he finally came to, the young Queen had found herself thrust into a quagmire of complexity.

The young man revealed himself to be a Jedi – a Padawan who had been left for dead on the battlefield and had skirted the edges of the Separatist fleet in the Outer Rim for many months, looking for an opportunity to strike back. He had told Apailana that he had no desire to return to the Jedi Order – _"Let them think me dead"_ – but when Order 66 smeared the blood of his onetime kin across the galaxy, he decided to act.  
Stealing a ship from the Palace's hangar, he had disappeared for days…only to return a couple of hours ago this very morning while Apailana was meeting with Senator Amidala's sister, leading an entourage of six fugitive Jedi, including a seriously wounded Padawan. "Help us," he had begged, and the Queen had never before seen such emotion on his hardened face. She had agreed without hesitation, though in retrospect, she should have paused to consider the consequences.

Apailana's gaze shifted from him, slowly drifting along the silent hooded figures standing in a loose semicircle on the opposite side of the chamber. She felt a brief rush of relief upon spotting the now-healing Padawan, a young Cathar female no more than twelve or thirteen seasons, seated beside him at the table.  
The Padawan's bright green eyes glowed in the darkness; her species was able to see much more clearly than humans in limited light like these tunnels, but when she looked at Apailana, the Queen felt chilled by the bleak emptiness in her unblinking stare. It was the same emptiness she saw in all of their eyes. The emptiness of loss.

Returning her level gaze to him, their impromptu commander by no design of his own, Apailana let a few more moments pass in silence, and then spoke. "I am not certain," she replied with deliberate care, "that you understand what you are asking of me. I am responsible for the stability and well-being of my planet and its people. In the eyes of the New Order, I am already an apostate. If it is discovered that my loyalties do not lie with the Empire, Palpatine's retribution will be swift and brutal." She paused, and leaned forward, praying that he would sense with that mysterious Force her desire to help – as well as her firm resolve not to risk having so many lives heaped upon her conscience.  
"The Palace will remain a safe haven for you and your comrades…but I cannot – I _will not_ – condone an open confrontation with Imperial soldiers. It would endanger the lives of my people…and that is a price too high for me to pay. Moreover, your evidence of a contingent stationed here on Naboo, in _this_ city, is circumstantial at best."

A low hiss echoed throughout the chamber, blanketing its occupants in a feeling of primal malice. Several Royal guards' hands brushed over their holstered blasters in response, as though reassuring themselves that they were capable of protecting their Queen.  
The Cathar Padawan was glaring at Apailana, her feline features twisted into a vicious snarl that bared her sharpened teeth. Apailana noticed abstractly that the Padawan's face was a golden tan color, and could just make out the shadows of auburn stripes on her cheeks and forehead as they disappeared into the cowl of her robe. Stripes were rare for the Cathar – the marks usually faded when a child reached adolescence.  
Because of its uncommonness, striped fur was thought to be the marking of a great warrior. The Queen wondered if that was the reason this Padawan's parents had given her to the Jedi for training – to fulfill some great destiny heralded by a physical trait.

He held up his hand, the one closest to the young Cathar, and the hissing noise abruptly cut off, though her green eyes blazed within the shadowed confines of her hood. "I assure you that there is something amiss inside the city," he responded coolly. "We can all feel it; danger, lying in wait, to be triggered by some outside force. It must be uncovered before it is too late."  
"You ask Her Majesty to jeopardize the safety of our planet based on your 'feeling'?" The incredulous and somewhat condescending remark came from one of Apailana's advisors, a young man chosen for his tactical knowledge – not his negotiating skills.  
The Cathar Padawan leaned forward, ignoring the restraining arm thrown across her path, her lips rippling in a growl that erupted from low in her throat. Splaying her hands on the stone, the fingers curled slightly like the claws of a hunter, she asked in a quiet, deadly tone, "Do you doubt the words of a Jedi?" Her vertical pupils narrowed as she stared the advisor down, practically daring him to reply.  
Apailana intended to try and diffuse the situation – but unfortunately, her advisor decided to take matters into his own hands. "We need proof that the Empire is meddling in the affairs of Naboo – solid evidence that confirms your suspicions – before we allow you to act."

_"Allow_ us?" she exclaimed, the snarl more pronounced and far more threatening in nature on her face. Her fingertips contracted atop the makeshift table, the nails digging into the coarse stone. "Who do you think –?"  
"Enough, Jiera!" He clapped a firm hand on her shoulder, holding her in place. "Be mindful of your feelings," he admonished sternly. "You are a _Jedi._ Control yourself."  
Jiera settled back into her seat, her murderous expression fading as her stiff shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath. Her hands relaxed and slid from the table to rest limply on her lap, and the emptiness slowly returned to her jewel-toned eyes. The other hooded figures had not moved so much as a millimeter throughout the entire exchange, standing about the room like living statues and watching both seen and unseen fluctuations in the chamber's atmosphere.

The Queen chose to breach the tense aftermath, stating with calm poise, "My advisor, perhaps, speaks out of turn." She could not turn around to see how her veiled reprimand was received…but there was no mistaking the hint of satisfaction glimmering in Jiera's emerald orbs. "Your request is not a question of proof, but of substance. What is it that you hope to accomplish if it is granted?"  
"Peace of mind, Your Majesty," he responded immediately. "We were taken by surprise five days ago. Many of us have lost Masters, apprentices, and friends…all falling under the blasterfire of those whom we thought were our allies." His silver-grey eyes glinted metallic with resolve. "We do not intend to be caught off-guard again."  
"And this…venture will give all of you some measure of peace?"  
He could hear the reluctant notes of agreement in Apailana's question, and could probably sense it as well. His gaze brightened considerably, though he kept his expression carefully neutral.  
Of course, others in the chamber heard the change of emotion in her voice as well. Shuffling footsteps resonated softly behind her chair, and a dismayed advisor cried out, "Your Majesty! Surely you do not –"

Apailana flung up her hand, palm outward, and a choked silence followed.  
He replied in a low voice, "All we are seeking is your permission to scout around the city for any potential leads. Only one of us will leave the Palace at a time. We will not be seen. We simply wish to determine the source of the danger we sense harbored somewhere within the city – not to start a war with the Empire." The neutrality covering his shadowed features evaporated, revealing a glimpse of deeply-rooted pain. "I have had enough of war to last me several lifetimes."  
A barely audible whisper of agreement floated among the cloaked figures. Apailana studied him for a moment, and then her gaze turned inward, contemplating her next step.

The minutes passed, marked by the flickering torchlight and the impatient shifting of the Queen's entourage. Jiera had sunk into a meditation trance; the injuries she had sustained during the battle that had claimed her Master were extensive – but she was bred to be resilient, and possessed an iron will. It was hard for him to believe, when he glanced at her now-serene expression, that this was the same Padawan whom he had spotted in the frozen wastelands of Mygeeto, covered in her own blood and barely clinging to life.  
In a way, Jiera's survival had given him hope. Hope that the universe was not totally lost to the black disease of the dark side. Hope that the Jedi could somehow rise from the ashes and save the Republic.  
Hope that what had once been lost could be restored.  
None of the others knew, had even guessed, that he had another reason to search the city of Theed. They could never know that reason; he had acquired much practice in the art of secrecy over the last four years, and it helped to protect the most selfish desire of his life – the one thing that had sustained him all during the war.

He had no guarantee of finding her. It was a foolish hope; he knew that. Yet he found that he could not prevent his heart from thundering fiercely inside his chest, filling him up with the fervent belief that somehow, some way, he would see her again.  
His hand plunged into a side pocket in his robes, the fingers enclosing tightly around the token of his belief. It had cost him a great deal to preserve this trinket, something that his Master would have called a frivolous attachment, but he did not regret it.  
The only regret he had – the one that kept him awake every night with notions of what could have been – was that he had not listened to her. He had chosen to go back to the war, to a winless battle, appeasing his ingrained sense of duty…and it had cost him everything.

The Force stirred, then; like pebbles tossed into a pond, feelings skittered across the placid stillness of the chamber, and Jiera opened her eyes in response to the change. He kept his hand hidden inside the folds of his cloak, and looked up just as Queen Apailana straightened in her chair.  
"Very well," the teenaged ruler said slowly, as though each word were weighted with unforeseen consequences, "you are hereby granted my permission to conduct your investigation of probable infiltration in Theed."  
The line of his shoulders dropped visibly, a release of pent-up tension, and she stared hard at him, her dark eyes both somber and compelling. "I must have your word, however, that this operation will proceed with the utmost discretion."  
He answered without hesitation. "I give you my solemn vow, Your Majesty."  
Apailana nodded once, interlacing her slim fingers and resting them on the stone slab. She kept her gaze on her hands as she concluded in a low murmur, "If for any reason you or one of your companions reveals themselves to these clone troopers and it is reported to Coruscant… For the sake of my people, I must disavow all knowledge of your presence on Naboo."

His respect for the young Queen increased tenfold. Reading her emotions in the Force, he was able to discern that Apailana dreaded any altercation with the Empire's created army – but that fear was not based solely on how such a conflict would affect the welfare of her people. She feared the repercussions that Palpatine would exact on this small group of Jedi that had, for lack of a better term, become uninvited houseguests. He was touched by her concern; apparently, not everyone in the galaxy bought into the Emperor's propaganda about the Jedi Order betraying the Republic.  
The Queen raised her eyes and he met her gaze, adding a silent promise to his vow. He would do everything in his power to one day repay his debt to the girl who had been elected to lead her people in these turbulent times.

"I understand," he said, and reached for his hood. Lowering the cowl out of respect for Apailana, a thin braid of ink-black hair snaked behind the curve of his left ear and tumbled over one broad shoulder, his hair mussed and pulled back in a short ponytail at the back of his head. His features were chiseled and angular, the cheekbones more hollow from lack of proper nutrition, but his face was handsome nonetheless.  
He had olive-toned skin, darkened by the light of many suns since he had arrived at the Palace ten days ago, and the irises of his eyes looked like liquid silver, with a darker ring of charcoal around the outer edges.  
He stood smoothly and strode over to the Queen. The guards grew apprehensive, but Apailana was merely curious as she watched him approach. He lowered himself to one knee before her. "We owe you our lives, Your Majesty," he stated quietly. "You gave me asylum and medical attention when you could have easily sent me away, or turned me over to the Empire. Thank you."

Apailana masked her surprise well – but he could still sense it, though it was nearly invisible on her face. She lifted her hand towards him; he recognized the gesture and clasped it with his own, rising to his feet. He assisted her in standing, and the guards instantly came to attention while the low mutterings of the Queen's entourage ceased.  
"Forgive me," she spoke up suddenly, and seemed almost…embarrassed. "You have stayed here with us for nearly two weeks and yet…I do not know your name."  
He smiled – the first time he could remember using the expression in a long while – and replied warmly, "It is my fault for skipping the introductions, Your Majesty – not yours." He released her hand and bowed formally. "My name is Kai Oren."  
"It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Jedi Oren."

He shook his head. "Please, call me Kai. I no longer feel like a Jedi." He said this lightly, with a small smile on his lips, but his eyes were tight and guarded.  
Apailana inclined her head, smoothing the folds of her gown in a brief, automatic motion. "As you wish. If our discussion is concluded, I have other matters to attend to in the Palace."  
"Of course."  
He watched the Queen walk through the eastern corridor, a quartet of handmaidens surrounding her as she departed, and was followed by the advisors and Royal guards.

When it was certain that they were alone, the other Jedi removed their hoods and gathered loosely around Kai. He perched himself on the end of the stone slab and dug around in his pocket, pulling out a tiny object and rolling it around absently in his palm.  
"You should not have lied to her." One of the Jedi, an older man with grey hair peppering his ginger-colored hair and beard, scolded as he drew near.  
"Every word I said was the truth," he retorted, staring at the object in his hand.  
"Except for your name."  
Kai was quiet for moment. Then he murmured in a subdued tone, "Old habits die hard, Daven. If the Queen were to check the Republic archives and discover that I'm supposed to be dead…we could lose the very thin thread of trust we have gained between us and the Naboo."  
"And how much worse will that trust be damaged if she finds out you have been lying?" Daven shot back.  
"It is a risk I have to take."

Daven shook his head, sighing heavily. Laying a hand on Kai's shoulder, the older Jedi said in a low voice, "You keep playing the risks against one another, my young friend, and eventually you will lose everything."  
Kai looked up, offering him a bleak smile. "I already have." His gaze drifted back to his palm, running his thumb back and forth over the item in his hand. It was a perfectly shaped and polished crystal – a brilliant yellow-orange gem that sparkled in the glow of the flames suspended above them.  
"You have not lost your name." Daven sat down beside him, watching the young man's face as he stared at the crystal. "And you have not lost the title of Jedi."

"No?" His tone was scarcely a whisper, and saturated with grief. "According to the Jedi Council, Padawan Learner Cian Wynn died on Jabiim two and half years ago." He began reciting in a dull monotone, "_'His lightsaber, damaged beyond repair, was salvaged by a local three days after Republic troops evacuated the planet.'_"  
Daven spoke earnestly, "But you are _not dead,_ Cian. If you were, none of us would be here right now. _We_ owe _you_ our lives."  
The younger man exhaled slowly, and Daven could feel his despair start to ebb, receding like the tide. Clapping him on the arm, he suggested mildly, "Now come on; let's work out a plan for the first sweep of the city." He pushed to his feet and headed for the others, who had wisely retreated a short distance away from the pair during their conversation.

Cian twirled the crystal between his fingertips a few more times, his pensive gaze focused intently on its topaz depths. The memory of wide brown eyes, flecked with russet and gold, warmed his soul – before he abruptly clamped down on the thought and buried it in a far corner of his mind. No matter what Daven or any of the others said, Cian Wynn would not exist until he saw her again.  
He tucked the crystal inside his robes and stood upright. Master Cam had once told him to live in the present moment – but for Cian, there _was _no present. There was only the past, riddled with a myriad of unresolved issues…and the future, hovering just below the horizon like a rising sun – or a ferocious storm.  
The key to connecting the past to the future did not lie with Cian. It floated out there, somewhere, elusive and ambiguous.

But change was coming. The Force had been…_different_ these last few days, ever since that inexplicable explosion of energy, and Cian could sense that the threads weaving together the tapestry of all life were shifting, forming a new outcome than the one originally intended. What that meant for him, Cian did not know. He only knew that he refused to pass into the next life without seeing her – hearing her voice and touching her skin – one last time.  
As he joined the others, immersing himself in their discussion about their first scouting expedition of Theed tonight, Jiera insisting to everyone that she was able to take the first shift – her name resounded in his heart like a bell, clear and lovely and overflowing with steadfast devotion.  
_Yané._


End file.
